It’s -8 degrees F this morning, with the wind chill.I remember this cold. This is the cold that makes your eyes water continuously. This is the cold where you don’t put on lipstick before leaving the house because you know you’ll be wrapping a thick scarf around your face. This is Boston cold. This is the cold you barrel through with your head down, for once in a hurry to get to work.
It was 68 degrees here last Tuesday. Willard Scott would describe this weather as “wacky.”
1 comments:
I always think of it as walking-on-stilts-of-rigid-frozen-meat-rather -than-my-actual-legs cold.
Back in Mexico over the holidays, Em and I were playing in the waves and I remember feeling the force of the water tug and pull at the flesh of my legs. And it made the muscles feel all loose and weird. And I was reminded of boiling chicken pieces and how the water gently yanks the meat away from the bone as it cooks. And then I thought: wow, this is why New York is the exact opposite of Mexico.
oh, monday.
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