Hardy peasant stock? Maybe not.

Yesterday, when temps hovered in the upper thirties, New York dogs wore sweaters and Burberry coats. This morning the weather turned vicious. The streets had a dusting of snow (and a two inch layer of salt, it seemed). Temperatures imitated Wisconsin. Dogs were being carried by owners across the street. The wind kicked up, reminding me what winter was really like back home. Thanks a lot, New York. I would have appreciated one last morning of something gentler and tamer. This stuff is for the Olafs and the Ingas and husky Vladimirs of this world. Me, I’m the one that is genetically linked to the Ludmilas who stayed home by the kitchen hearth and stirred the porridge. Or, better yet, my ancestors were probably of Mediterranean stock, those that got mixed up during the European battles that merged our troops with theirs. Bottom line: this winter stuff isn’t for me.