I find January and February to be difficult months to live through in the Midwest. There is something about the gray snow, sky, and landscapes that dull my mood. I do not have seasonal affective disorder, but I suffer from a lack of energy, interest and enthusiasm. I therefore seek and share things that brighten my days.

I drive east on 85th Street from Cooper Road to the Job Center on Sheridan Road each workday. I usually get annoyed as I drive near Jane Vernon Elementary School at 85th and 22nd Avenue because I drive at the school zone speed limit, and usually collect a parade of tailgating cars hoping to urge me to drive faster. Although I am used to this daily experience, it does upset me, because I am notoriously followed by parents speeding to drop their children off at the school, or fellow employees racing me to the parking lot at the Job Center. Both should know better.

Recently, while stopped at the light, I watched the children walking to school. There is an older male crossing guard who helps children cross both 85th and 22nd. I am not sure how long he has held the job, but it has been for many years. This day, he was walking a little girl across 85th right in front of my car. I would guess the girl to be about 6 years old. She was pulling a backpack on wheels behind her and was chatting away to the crossing guard. It was cold and he had flaps down over his ears, so he bent down to hear her. She then put her arm around him to finish her story, and they walked that way to the curb. He walked hunched over and her little arm was around his waist. It was a gesture performed with the innocence of youth, but it spoke of her trust and familiarity with the crossing guard. Both smiled and parted ways as she turned toward the school. It will never cease to amaze me what joy children bring to our world. Suddenly the gray day seemed a little sunnier.

Earlier this week, I met my Aunt Gloria for lunch. Gloria is my mother’s younger sister, a retired school teacher and lives in Waukegan. Because she is 12 twelve years older than I am, she has always had a special place in my heart. It is an interesting stage in life when you reach a certain age, and the lines between aunts and nieces, mothers and daughters, and big and little sisters get blurred. The age and label are no longer as important as the ability to enjoy each other’s company and the roots we share.

We had a nice lunch, and upon leaving, Gloria told me she had a shopping bag for me. This act is one that has defined the women on my mother’s side of the family for generations. My grandmother never came to my home without a shopping bag. It contained a variety of treasures, but always held magazines to share, and was accompanied by the obligatory admonition, “Save the bag. You might need it.” My Mother continues the tradition at every visit, bringing a shopping bag with books to share, and often a small gift.

Gloria opened the trunk of her car, and took out the “Horsefeathers” shopping bag containing copies of Chicago Magazine. “You’ll read Chicago, won’t you?” she asked me. “Everyone likes Chicago, and they aren’t old.” Then she opened a little box and said she had found some small stained glass window ornaments she thought I might like. Once again, a dull, wet February day, was no longer drab.

My last ray of sunshine came from my mother. She is a naturally positive, upbeat person, and I was raised in a home filled with smiles and laughter. Although she lives in Illinois, winter makes it hard for us to see each other, so we keep in touch with calls and e-mails. She recently sent me a joke that shows two little groundhogs watching Noah’s Ark sail away, with the caption, “Oh, darn. Was that today?” It struck me as hilarious.

A symptom of my seasonal doldrums is procrastination, and with deadlines being harder to achieve, I could relate to the groundhops. Thanks to Mom’s joke I can attack those deadlines with humor and renewed vigor.

I choose to be a believer in the groundhog from Illinois that did not see its shadow, and eagerly look forward to spring. In the meantime, I will take pleasure in the bright spots that come along.