It is 13 degrees in New York today, although with the wind chill it feels like somewhere between 0 and 10. It’s cold. And yet, as I walked to work this morning, I continued past the bus I could have taken, secure in the fact that I was dressed like I was on my way to a Jack London novel.
I saw many shivery people on my path: people with cold tears rolling down their cheeks, people holding scarves up to their faces to block the wind, people making the little mad faces people make when they can’t believe the weather is doing this awful thing to them and they are required to deal with it. But me, I trotted on happily, layered up like the kid in A Christmas Story (I can’t move my arms!) and just as uninterested in bumping into people. Dare I say it, I was prepared for the weather.
The reason: last night when I got home from work, I was the shivery one. It was 25 degrees, but when I walked into our building, I greeted Manny, the doorman, and said, “Oh my god, I can’t believe how cold it is!”
“Just wait until tomorrow,” Manny said.
“What does that mean?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“I don’t know,” Manny replied honestly. “But people keep saying it.”
Armed with that elusive warning and the more specific information on NPR this morning, I was ready.
Jack is TWO!
2 years ago