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You call this cold?

December 28, 2002 ~ 12:10 a.m.

Winter doesn�t get much better than it did today.

Around 2 in the afternoon, I left the house and walked the lead drag through town � appropriately named, as most American high streets are, Main Street, on my way to replenish my checking account at the bank with fresh funds.

After my travelers� checks were cashed up and turned in, I walked down to the package store, bought a few Sam Adams beers � the hometown brew � and walked home along the Charles River. Going was slow as the footpaths hadn�t been cleared and icy footprints everywhere made me stumble a bit. But it was fun. When was the last time I walked in snow like this? A little more than a year-and-a-half ago, I think. Let�s work it out: I helped my BIL plow snow after a blizzard in March 2001. I was home at this time last year, but there was no snow. And we sure don�t see any snow in London; I stand a greater chance of winning the Lottery. Yep, one year and nine months ago was the last time I walked through or even saw snow. Too long for this Yankee. Too long.

It�s lovely stuff, snow is. Dazzling white everywhere. Miniscule ice floes on the Charles River created dancing light prisms in the strong afternoon sun. And what sun! I was dressed in a long coat, wooly hat and gloves, and I actually started wishing it was even colder than it was. I took off the hat. Say what you will about the crisp, take-your-breath-away cold of a Northeastern mid winter, but damn if you don�t get some brilliant sunshine. I�m trying to remember the last time I saw the sun shine so bright and all day long in England. I can�t.

That�s why I felt so happy today. It�s true that I padded my bank account comfortably with a considerable sum today, and believe you me, money makes me tick. It�s true that I�m feeling great just to be back home and having a sprightly walk down the street and up past the river. But what really had me going was that brilliant sun. Even a December sun can be quite strong when it�s shining full strength.

In fact, I began to feel foolish and self-conscious in my long coat and gloves. The fact dawned on me. It may only have been 34�F (1�C) outside, but that was not cold. It was a break from the cold. So far this winter, Bostonians have put up with some real Arctic temperatures, and polar blasts are quite frequent during the winter here. So, in the presence of some strong sunshine and the absence of wind (and thusly, wind chill), thirty-four degrees was nothing. It could have been 64 or even 74. It was gorgeous. Everyone I saw appeared to agree.

Funny thing is, in the grey but remarkably warm murk of the past week or so in London had me fretting about the cold I was coming home to. I thought, having been able to walk around outside in just a t-shirt, that maybe I�d become soft to real cold; that if I were suddenly immersed in a place where temps in the mid 50s seems like a pipe dream, I might just whimper like a puppy dog, �please, God, I don�t wanna go out, I�ll stay in. I�ve come this far just to see the house and that�s fine with me!�

But the spring in my step and the actual presence of sweat on my brow this afternoon proved me otherwise. This was a lovely, lovely day. And winter sure doesn�t get much better than this.

� M.E.M.

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