Baby, It's Cold Outside (Hysteria Lane)

There’s a popular phrase used here in The Windy City that says that if you don’t like the current weather, just wait 10 minutes (or an hour or a day, depending on who you ask) and it will change.

There is a lot of truth to this statement and apparently, it isn’t just for weather, it’s for neighborhoods, too. Hysteria Lane seems to have changed overnight.

Yes, baby, it’s indeed cold outside. I’m sure this is true in other places, too, but we not only have a thermometer temperature, we have a “feels like” temperature, too.


The temperature and the wind chill at -20 certainly do feel polar and arctic, but something else is happening in my neighborhood that, truly, has me shivering in my shoes.

Two days ago, Mr. and Mrs. W, my neighbors to the left, called us to ask if we had noticed any unusual activity around their house the night before. I hadn’t, but I really hadn’t been looking, either. It’s winter, it’s below zero and during such conditions I tend to revert from Nancy “Nosy Neighbor” Drew to a couch potato, engrossed with television and snuggled under a blanket.

Mrs. W. said that someone had been ringing their doorbell late at night. They both have back problems and neither of them physically moves around all that well. By the time they got to the door, there was no one there. The next morning they discovered graffiti spray painted all over their garage. Mrs. W. feels the images are meant to be anti-semitic and she is frightened.

When I look at the "artwork" on The W’s garage, I see a 5 pointed star (not a Star of David), some circles and some squiggly lines. To me, it looks like the doodle of a young girl who has no respect for others’ property, too much time, and one can of purple spray paint on her hands.

I am no expert on the symbols of Judaism, though, and my neighbor is scared and I’m scared for her. They rang her doorbell, after all. Not something your normal graffiti artists do, not to mention that fact that here on the normally very quiet and nice Hysteria Lane, we don’t normally even have graffiti artists. The neighborhood squirrels, raccoons and a stray cat or four cause most of the upset around here and it's usually to trash cans.

Yesterday afternoon as I sat in front of the TV snuggled under my comforter, my neighbor to the right, Dr. M., called. He was hysterical.

Dr. M is one of the most brilliant people I have ever met. He is 95 years old and still works full-time as a Professor of Chemistry at a nearby university. He’s always writing a new book or article and even at 95, feels he still has much to learn. He lives modestly, and has books and blackboards all over his house (like the guy on Numb3rs), always chalked with mathematical and chemical equations that I don’t even pretend to comprehend.

Dr. M. is also as nice as they come. He was raised in the south and could be described as a true southern gentleman.

The last time Dr. M. called hysterical was on September 11, 2001. I was watching the horrific images on TV and he had asked if I would come over and sit with him. He said he felt fearful and alone. Mrs. M had just recently passed away after a battle with Alzheimer’s Disease.

When I went over there, he told me his only daughter was in The World Trade Center and his only son was in The Pentagon.

Silently, we watched the buildings burning with fire and then collapsing, not knowing what the future would hold for Dr. M or his children, the thousands of others in the immediate area and the entire country as a whole. There was nothing I could say, we just watched and I held his hand.

Fortunately, both of his children had been able to escape with their lives that day.

Yesterday, I have a feeling that Dr. M was fortunate to have escaped with his.

He told me that a young man had rang his doorbell. When he answered, the man, covered in a hooded parka with a scarf across his face to battle the cold, one would presume, told Dr. M that he was from the village and he needed to get into his home to do an emergency water shut off due to a water main break in the area. Dr. M, noticing that there was no village vehicle nearby, nor was the main in a work uniform, asked him for some ID.

The guy stated he was an independent contractor working for the village during this emergency and he had no ID. Dr. M. told him he wasn’t going to let him in but he would call the police department to verify his story.

The man became belligerent, called him a “f’n old man” and shoved Dr. M. backward, gaining entry into his house. For 95, I have to say, Dr. M is one limber dude and somehow not only retained his balance, he threw himself forward at his assailant and was able to slam him into the glass entry door of the house. Dr. M then knocked over the coat rack near his front door and struck this guy, who was by now running out the front door. Thank God.

The police were called and Dr. M really had no good description of the home invader, nor his vehicle.

“I’m sorry. I’m more apt to notice what book someone is carrying, rather than what kind of car or their physical characteristics.” Dr. M apologized to the policeman taking his statement.

I asked Dr. M if he wanted to stay at our house and he said no. Some dumb thug was not going to chase him away.

He’s very brave. I wish I were, too. I’m terribly afraid of what is happening over the last few days here on Hysteria Lane.

I’ve been dreading this weekend’s weather conditions, but suddenly our 20 below wind chill is not the only thing that seems menacing.

WTF is going on here? Someone doing that to that kind old man is just plain cold. Cold that is not measured with a thermometer and that kind of cold sends a shiver right down my spine.

Yes, it’s a cold, cold world sometimes and it has nothing to do with seasons.