The weather here is like a chronic illness, as my friend Liam says. Just standing outside for a few minutes hurts your face. Snow is mounded beside the sidewalks and driveways and roadsides, and while I like snow, this snow has overstayed its welcome.
I used to ride in weather like this. It was all about clothing, I used to say. But I think those days are behind me. I am less reckless, more fearful, too addicted to comfort. So, when it's awful out, like it is, I drive most places I go. It's more expensive than biking, and presents, for me, a moral problem, but it sure is easy.
I visited my mom today. She's in assisted living. She asked her neighbor Lynn, sitting near us at lunch, how long she was going to stay there, how long she would live there. "I suppose I'll live here the rest of my life," Lynn said. My mom looked at me, lost and fearful. "We've got to figure out where I'm going to live." I was unable to look her right in the face and say, "You're going to live here."
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