When I got up yesterday morning it was 22 degrees Fahrenheit and pitch black (okay, it was 2:30 in the morning and it had better be dark). Before I even went outside, I was unhappy about the cold and dark day surrounding me. I guess until I clean my glasses, I’m not able to see that in my neighborhood we have pine trees not palm trees.
I had a sad heart and a red behind from feeling sorry for myself for having to slog through the cold and the dark all the way over to the Planet Fitness gym (James? We hardly know each other) where I got to see the news footage of the Lake Effect snow pummeling Buffalo and the area. I thought I was watching The Jack London Story, told in real-time.
My family and I had been in upstate New York, Niagara Falls (go ahead and click it, I’ll wait), near the end of September. The highways we had sped north on just seven weeks ago are impossibly impassable, even if you have a dog sled (tucked in the back of your all-wheel drive vehicle).
By the time I had done my hour on the treadmill (some days offering diction lessons for Tourette’s patients is preferable) I had an old Johnny Horton song stuck in my head, and my whiny mealy-mouthed complaints about our weather stuck in my throat. It seemed to taste a lot like crow.