Ep. 3: We’re getting there (At war with the weather)

Keeping with the Victorian theme of our new home, I’m using an Charles William Mitchell’s 1893 painting of The Flight of Boreas with Oreithyia to illustrate this post.

Friday, March 15, 2013:

Although I didn't have a chance to shave, as I was walking out the door I found a skull cap to keep my head warm and that made all the difference this morning.
Thus, as I braced against Boreas and his brisk air while walking down Requa, my first thought was a relieved, “We’re getting there.”
All but twenty-five minutes earlier, I was lying in bed questioning why I was feeling reasonably well rested, when I decided to get out of bed to check the time and to determine whether I should just get up "early" or snooze a little longer.
The startling revelation that I hadn't heard my alarm and I had overslept by 25 minutes forced me to hone my getting-ready routine down to 15 minutes. While I jumped in and out of the shower, Chelsea made coffee (thanks baby, we make a good team), so that at 7:15 I was sipping my first cup at the kitchen counter waiting and watching the green numbers above the oven door change until it was 7:19—which is when I would double check for the third time that I had my wallet, phone and keys. After being pleased by the final inspection I comfortably jet out the back door, not a minute too late, not a minute too soon.
As I approached the final grade before the Route 9 overpass I could see a glimmer of the warmth-provoking sunrise upon the water and the hills of whatever town that is across Peekskill Bay (Google maps says, “It’s not a town, it’s the Palisades Interstate Park dummy.”)
As I predicted yesterday, I wouldn't take notice of nature’s awesomeness once I was on the train; so it was nice to acknowledge her naked beauty, if only for a golden, fleeting moment as I descended down the hill.
The sight inspired a good start, so that I felt great walking across the platform with my cap tightly pressed around my head, and for a juvenile moment felt as if I had given "below freezing" the finger. "Fudge you 29 degrees!" I smugly said to myself, triumphantly basking in my resourcefulness.
Once again, with a slightly lighter step than yesterday, I imagined being neighborly and greeting everyone I passed on the platform. "Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning…" After a half a dozen of these imaginary salutations, the fear of judgment kicked in and my Walter Mitty moment ended ingloriously. Wanh, wanh, wanh.
Lorenzo
The Peekskill Commuter
p.s. Irony abounds, because the gods had the last laugh after all.
As I was hurriedly approaching the exit of Grand Central, snickering at the lady wearing a full length fur coat and white sneakers, I realized that I had left my cap back on the train. I ran back against waves of fellow passengers and frantically searched three or four cars before giving up.
Somehow I could not locate the right car, the right seat, and the right place where I had left my helmet behind. Yes, it was as if the weather had said, “Oh, yeah? Well, fudge YOU back.” Ugh. Lesson learned.
p.p.s.s. Once I arrived at my office, I shed my coats and upon settling in found my cap in the deep, dark recesses of my bag.
So, I guess I win after all. Ha! back to you, Boreas.