One of Mark Twain’s famous witticisms was: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” Having spent a decade of summers in San Francisco, I understood that comment quite well. I missed wearing sundresses during those years when the afternoon fog came barreling through the Golden Gate and blanketed the hills in mist.
Well, I can’t say I wore many sun dresses during the summer of ’09 in Wisconsin either. It’s going down as the coldest summer on record.
This morning I got up early, anticipating a nice long run before spending time sorting and folding sheets and wading through my paperwork. The heat was going in the house so I didn’t notice how cold it had grown over night. I should have known, however, as last night from the hot tub, the unsullied ebony sky was awash with brilliant stars. And through my sunroom window, I noticed the lake was invisible because it was covered with fog. This led me to the thermometer, which indicated a 44° temperature.
So, just before looking for a fleece pullover, I decided to fold sheets and finish my paperwork before the run. It was worth the wait. The temperature climbed to a whopping 54° about an hour later and I had a fine run around this beautiful property. Somehow I still managed to break a healthy sweat.
Damn, I’m lucky.
