On Being Mortal
Birthday Report

Report from the Igloo

My cousin Gerry emailed me from San Diego where it was 80 degrees and sunny. He reported seeing a sign on a chalkboard outside a souvenir shop.  “Stop complaining,” it said.  “You could be in Boston.”

It’s odd to be the first story on the national news day after day as the non-stop storms, well, don’t stop.  But it’s nice to hear from friends in warmer places who are checking in to be sure we are OK. 

Our back yard looks like a desert with sweeping sand dunes, made of snow.  The icicles hanging ominously from our front roof are six-inches in diameter and several feet long and are likely to cause ice dams and water damage in the house if it ever warms up enough for them to melt.

Those who are out there clearing our streets and seeing to emergencies are heroes.  We are lucky to be warm and safe.  Others are not so lucky.

Twenty years ago, or even five years ago, we would have ignored the warnings to stay inside.  But things are different now.  We go out cautiously and seldom.  Public transport is hit or miss.   Our busy lives are on hold.  The bitter cold is going to stay around for a while.

Just like us, this is getting old.



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