A Bumpy Flight

  Chicago enveloped in rain and fog coming and screaming winds going. Tailbacks to the airport, gridlocking the motorway. Meandering through wet, edgy suburbs.  The car radio news reported five murders over the weekend. Flights coming in from Philadelphia and Houston and lands beyond, all delayed, all landing at the wrong gate.  A four-hour wait at O'Hare, queues stretching from the Customer Service desk,  snaking around the concourse, gates changing every five minutes, running from B Gates to C Gates and back again more times than I could count. No raised voices from a generation of shuffling stoics, living with constant uncertainty, draconian security and the Curse of the Ziplock Bag.  A hair-raising, stomach-churning landing in Buffalo, buffeted by high winds and monsoon rain.  Someone on the plane mentioned a tornado. Someone always mentions a tornado. All pretty much par for the course.  Meanwhile, back in Chicago, rows of snowploughs already lined the runways, primed for action. The best is yet to come.