I flinched again when I rounded the corner last night.
My Upper West Side apartment looks out over the Hudson River, from which, despite Spring's promised coming, still blows a chill evening wind. Most of my walk home from Columbia keeps a few streets of buildings between me and the river -- but each night, when I turn the corner on 122nd Street, I get slapped with a wind that I seem to have offended in some way. It wasn't so bad last night, but was still cold enough to make me cringe a bit when it hit me in the face.
Part of my reaction was, no doubt, simply habit. In the dead of winter, the wind would lurk on the other side of the corner, pummeling me like it was a pugilistic bouncer who wanted to make sure I never came back to his club. The portion of 122nd is a steep uphill walk; at times I'd feel like a demented mime, as I walked across the wind, covering scant ground as the trampled snow conspired to have me slip back two steps for every three I took. I've never spent much time in Chicago, but I can't believe the Windy City is any worse than a mid-Winter New York; in February, downtown wind speeds reached hurricane levels.
Spring, though, is finally and stealthy winding its way amongst the skyscrapers and brownstones.
Today is the type of day where, throughout elementary school, I'd lose my coat. The early morning chill was enough to require a jacket, but by now the fog is already burned off and the afternoon promises to be the type that lures me outside just to sit in the sun and hum along with the chirping birds.
When I was a kid, the birds were ignored when I gathered with friends after school for a cutthroat game of kickball, tossing my coat over the playground fence while we played. In the middle of the game -- just when somebody was going to score a game-winning run -- the bus would show up. Featuring an irascible driver who couldn't stand waiting, the bus would just pause for a few minutes, so we'd abandon the game and run for our ride. I'd never realize my jacket was MIA 'til I was almost home.
That, at least, shouldn't happen now: There seems to be a dearth of interest in a J-school kickball league.
What's your favorite childhood memory?
