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It’s the year 2005 and I live in Williamsburg, a hipster’s enclave in Brooklyn. I’m not so much a hipster as I am newly single. A divorcé. I needed to get 180 degrees from Park Slope, otherwise known as Strollerville, where I had previously lived. So here I am, living in a loft on the East River just a block away from the underbelly of the Williamsburg Bridge.
I work in the city so I’m up early drinking coffee and watching the news. On this particular day, I turn on the television to discover it’s nine degrees outside. That’s right. Nine.
After I get out of the shower, I put on tights, socks, jeans and boots. I put on a thermal undershirt and a sweater on top. I slide my coat on. I button and zip it as far up as it will go. I grab the Kelly green scarf that Vanessa gave me for my 34th birthday, the one that is 10 feet long, and I wrap it around and around and around my neck. I yank the knit hat over my head. I lock the door as I leave and then I slide on my gloves.
I have to walk four blocks up the hill to Bedford Avenue and then 13 blocks north to the closest L train. By the time I get to Bedford, my thighs are already prickly and numb. I hold my head down against the wind. My boots clack louder than usual on the concrete sidewalk, hardened by cold.
My eyes water and my contacts suction themselves tightly to my eyeballs. My face is pink and threatening to chap. The only reason worth pulling my hands out of my pockets is to wipe the snot off my running nose, gloves be damned.
It’s the end of February and I am sick of this coat. I’ve worn this coat every day for four months. I have fantasies of tossing it atop a bonfire and dancing around it naked in the warm desert.
My breath filters my face in puffs of cloud. These are the shortest days of the year but the longest 15-minute walks to the L train. I yearn for Summer.
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It’s the year 2008 and I live in Austin, Texas. Today our local weather made the national news. It has been over 100 for three weeks. Today it will be 105. That’s right. 105.
I yearn to wake up in that Brooklyn loft, wrap myself in those layers and brace myself against that cold.
I loved that scarf.
I really miss wearing that coat.
Monday, August 4, 2008
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6 comments:
Great post. I'm not with you (yet) on the grass being colder. I do NOT miss the Tx heat. It hovers around 60° here in SF. Day and night. And the girls swim in the ocean and the pool almost every day.
(Seems like maybe you could submit this to the Statesman? Another personal essay perhaps?)
i think you need to aim for more temperate climes... i know, come be my neighbor! it's neither as cold as it gets in nyc nor as warm as it gets in austin, where i live.
Hey I am setting my sights for Atlanta! I live in CT so I feel you on the coldness in 2005...but TX..that's like a few miles from HELL! LOL! OMG 105 degrees, I would faint...indoors! I'd be outside tossing eggs on the pavement for kicks...LOL!OK maybe not.
I do know you only think you miss the cold weather...trust me on that one! Archive my blog to see last winter ...there are snow storm pictures up...huh!
This is beautiful and I will tell you what, if you'd like I can make you a scarf :)
Why do we always yearn for what we've left behind? I grew up in Rochester, NY, and grew to despise the lengthy winters. Now, a mere 6 hours away in Philadelphia, we're lucky if we get a few inches of wet snow. I miss that!
I feel your pain in Texas. I can't imagine that heat for a prolonged time.
The grass is always greener, eh?
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It’s the year 2005 and I live in Williamsburg, a hipster’s enclave in Brooklyn. I’m not so much a hipster as I am newly single. A divorcé. I needed to get 180 degrees from Park Slope, otherwise known as Strollerville, where I had previously lived. So here I am, living in a loft on the East River just a block away from the underbelly of the Williamsburg Bridge.
I work in the city so I’m up early drinking coffee and watching the news. On this particular day, I turn on the television to discover it’s nine degrees outside. That’s right. Nine.
After I get out of the shower, I put on tights, socks, jeans and boots. I put on a thermal undershirt and a sweater on top. I slide my coat on. I button and zip it as far up as it will go. I grab the Kelly green scarf that Vanessa gave me for my 34th birthday, the one that is 10 feet long, and I wrap it around and around and around my neck. I yank the knit hat over my head. I lock the door as I leave and then I slide on my gloves.
I have to walk four blocks up the hill to Bedford Avenue and then 13 blocks north to the closest L train. By the time I get to Bedford, my thighs are already prickly and numb. I hold my head down against the wind. My boots clack louder than usual on the concrete sidewalk, hardened by cold.
My eyes water and my contacts suction themselves tightly to my eyeballs. My face is pink and threatening to chap. The only reason worth pulling my hands out of my pockets is to wipe the snot off my running nose, gloves be damned.
It’s the end of February and I am sick of this coat. I’ve worn this coat every day for four months. I have fantasies of tossing it atop a bonfire and dancing around it naked in the warm desert.
My breath filters my face in puffs of cloud. These are the shortest days of the year but the longest 15-minute walks to the L train. I yearn for Summer.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s the year 2008 and I live in Austin, Texas. Today our local weather made the national news. It has been over 100 for three weeks. Today it will be 105. That’s right. 105.
I yearn to wake up in that Brooklyn loft, wrap myself in those layers and brace myself against that cold.
I loved that scarf.
I really miss wearing that coat.
The grass is always colder
I work in the city so I’m up early drinking coffee and watching the news. On this particular day, I turn on the television to discover it’s nine degrees outside. That’s right. Nine.
After I get out of the shower, I put on tights, socks, jeans and boots. I put on a thermal undershirt and a sweater on top. I slide my coat on. I button and zip it as far up as it will go. I grab the Kelly green scarf that Vanessa gave me for my 34th birthday, the one that is 10 feet long, and I wrap it around and around and around my neck. I yank the knit hat over my head. I lock the door as I leave and then I slide on my gloves.
I have to walk four blocks up the hill to Bedford Avenue and then 13 blocks north to the closest L train. By the time I get to Bedford, my thighs are already prickly and numb. I hold my head down against the wind. My boots clack louder than usual on the concrete sidewalk, hardened by cold.
My eyes water and my contacts suction themselves tightly to my eyeballs. My face is pink and threatening to chap. The only reason worth pulling my hands out of my pockets is to wipe the snot off my running nose, gloves be damned.
It’s the end of February and I am sick of this coat. I’ve worn this coat every day for four months. I have fantasies of tossing it atop a bonfire and dancing around it naked in the warm desert.
My breath filters my face in puffs of cloud. These are the shortest days of the year but the longest 15-minute walks to the L train. I yearn for Summer.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s the year 2008 and I live in Austin, Texas. Today our local weather made the national news. It has been over 100 for three weeks. Today it will be 105. That’s right. 105.
I yearn to wake up in that Brooklyn loft, wrap myself in those layers and brace myself against that cold.
I loved that scarf.
I really miss wearing that coat.