Melt

Yesterday I took the bus to work after four days of working at home. I missed the 8:10 bus because Jack refuses to let me wear sweatpants to work so I had to change into jeans. I normally dress up and wear a skirt to work, but I’m in tech where the dress code is “not pajamas or beachwear.” The former president wore Lululemon. I wanted to be warm in case I had to walk a mile and a half home from the train.

When I left the house, our street was covered in black ice. Our street was better than most as the night before we got out with the neighbors and shoveled the street since the city doesn’t plow side streets. I was wearing boots and walked gingerly so I wouldn’t slip. On the bus, I was engrossed in a New Yorker article about the guy who wrote “The Woman in the Window.”

When I got downtown, I walked out of the bus tunnel and there was no snow. None. Not a flake. It was trippy. I later told the Boy it was like flying to San Diego from Seattle, leaving the cold and rain and landing someplace warm and dry.

“Except it was a ten minute ride through a tunnel,” he said.

Yes.

 I searched and I found small bits of snow in a few places:

This morning, I walked Fox in our neighborhood and some of the sidewalks were so icy it was like I needed crampons.