The Windy City

Forgive me, Paul and Connie, but I'll never again be able to call Chicago the windy city.   I just don't know if it can rival Port Elizabeth.  PE is known as The Windy City here - and when the winds whip up, they are something to behold.   They send fine beach sand up into your rooms, your eyes, your hair.

Last weekend, Jim and I saw the wind's effects in two separate ways.  We decided to take a drive, traveling west along the shore.   At one point where we stopped to walk, the wind and wave action had churned the water up into a real froth.  Foam was flying everywhere; it was the closest to snow that we seen for some time.  As we walked along the beach, we'd become covered in suds.  My grandchildren would have liked all bubbles (if they could have stayed on their two feet).

Then, on Sunday, Jim and I went golfing at the Humewood golf course with two friends.  Against that wind, I pooped out after 11 holes, but Jim walked all 18.   One hole, Jim chipped onto the green and the ball ended up about 25 feet from the hole.  Jim was looking at the lie, but before he walked up and addressed the ball, it started moving again.  The wind pushed it nearly 15 feet closer to the pin!   Jim just smiled and sunk the putt.