January in Chicago was a downer. One sunny day out of 31. So nobody should be surprised that I was gleeful today. The white light was tickling me down to my toes as it streamed through the shutter slats, hitting the floor where Max was taking in its warmth. Time to check out Lake Michigan’s shoreline, which had been ravished by winter storms and high water. The Chicago Tribune reported that water levels were at thirty-year highs and that Mayor Lori Lightfoot had asked the president to declare Chicago’s lakefront a national disaster area.

Despite the high key atmospherics, I was thinking underexposed monochrome. Why so moody? Maybe it was an article I had read earlier in the week that proposed underexposing images by three stops and then boosting the highlights. Or maybe it was being bombarded for the last two weeks with impeachment, Iowa election returns, Trump at the National Prayer Breakfast, and the coronavirus. Not a lot of good news. And yet, the sun washed it all away, particularly because I could hold the camera without my hands losing feeling as they turn crackled red. And so I walked along the lake path, making my way slowly to the Drake Hotel.

Midway, I stopped for lunch at the new restaurant in the Theatre on the Lake (at Fullerton). I always enjoy an empty restaurant. It was me and four or five others at midday, with Sheryl Crow amplifying my mindset. After an excellent Mexican-flavored chicken and jicama salad, I was back out. I didn’t need no earbuds; I had my own earworm generating a reggae-like beat in my head.

Despite the warmth, the ice clung to fixtures in the water designed to impede beach erosion. While those structures were still standing guard, they were mostly submerged. As for the beach, it was largely gone. The waterline extended over what was once a slightly elevated asphalt bike path. Much of it was now broken rectangular slabs, pushing upward, as if a major fault line lay below. I am not sure whether there will be Thursday night volleyball games this summer. The singles may need to head directly to the bars instead of displaying their scantily-clad wears in the sunlight receding into the western horizon.

Ah, but one black-clad gentlemen exhibited true optimism. He had two surfboards. Into the water he went, but the waves were not providing the necessary rolling plateaus, so he spent most of his time floating in what was surely icy cold water.

After inspecting the beach, I headed under the mud-splattered Oak Street underpass. I was still in a great frame of mind. At about the same time, Alexander Vindman was escorted out of the White House and word was spreading that the now deceased Dr. Li Wenliang was a national hero in China. According to Trump, General Secretary Xi Jinping is doing an excellent job of containing the virus. Apparently that is why the Communist party has engaged in a massive coverup and continues to turn down international help. Just maybe, darkness still resides just below my surface.

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