There’s cold, and then there’s COLD.
Cataclysmic COLD, my friend Marge Schiller proclaims.
I step out of a Westin Hotel in the Chicago suburbs, submerged in my red down jacket, heavy turtleneck, knit cap, gloves. Walk briskly toward the shopping mall on the other side of the street. Then I run. Really really run.
– 7 degrees Fahrenheit. I feel the COLD in my bones.
No exuberant hymns to COLD from me. I live in Florida for a reason.
But I have a few mental cold remedies. They taste good. Consider them your unexpected gifts of the cataclysm. Let them warm your heart.
COLD creates fresh common ground.
Hibernate at home if you must – but don’t do cold alone.