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Remember the crazy clouds like this on Friday?


Wikipedia is on the job:

A derecho (Spanish: derecho "straight", pronounced [de̞ˈɾe̞tʃo̞]), is a widespread and long-lived, violent convectively induced straight-line windstorm that is associated with a fast-moving band of severe thunderstorms in the form of a squall line usually taking the form of a bow echo. Derechos blow in the direction of movement of their associated storms, similar to a gust front, except that the wind is sustained and generally increases in strength behind the "gust" front.

Bullets dodged

The first leg of our gonzo family vacation took place on the Jersey Shore, half an hour's drive from Atlantic City. I can't tell from the resort's webpage if they still have power after the weekend's derecho, but Atlantic County was apparently rather hard hit ("Worse than Irene" according to a local source) and there's a 9 pm curfew in effect. Really puts the downpours we had to drive through to get to Boston into perspective.

As mentioned before, I was sick my last two days in Boston. I checked into the Milner Hotel on Tuesday night and almost literally collapsed onto the bed. Fortunately, I was feeling rather better by the time I had to head off to Logan the following evening, but I still took a sick day on Thursday. Then, just when I'd found my feet again, I came down with a mild case of food poisoning in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Between the loss of sleep and dehydration I was woozy well into the next day and for a while it was touch-and-go whether I'd be joining monshu at the Gold Coast Art Fair in Grant Park.

As annoying as it was being laid up on Saturday, all I could think about was what an immense comfort it was that this was happening at home and not on the road. There was a moment, lying on a hard twin bed in my tiny dreary hotel room, when I began sobbing, I wanted to be home so much. Some people in this world are natural travellers; me, not so much. I am a soft boy addicted to my comforts.

Up on Miss Cleveland's balcony yesterday evening I was singing the praises of Chicago, telling everyone how I'd made a point of descending at Roosevelt to catch a cab north so I could have the pleasure of viewing the skyline from across Grant Park. It may not be my hometown, but it is home.