Why is it that I always forget my gloves and hat on the worst possible day? Like that day two weeks ago when I had to walk the excrutiating 3 avenue blocks from the gym to the subway while the 25 mph wind found its way through all my layers to my bare skin and whipped tears out of my eyes. Or today when I was running late and had to take the B train to Bryant Park and walk to the office through yesterday’s leftover snow sludge, when it was 17 degrees outside. At least I wore galoshes with thick socks. I learned my lesson yesterday when the de-icing salt left lovely stains on my leather boots. Obviously, I am not a pro at this whole winter thing.

BUT yesterday was beautiful. After I walked the eight blocks to the hedge fund office near Rockefeller Center through sideways-driving frozen rain that tried to cut out my corneas, I got to see the Nor’easter unfold from the 19th floor. I could see the top of the beautiful church on the corner of 51st and 5th and all the skyscrapers were covered in white. I watched the snow swirl upwards and sideways but almost never down. When I left for the day, I saw the result of that: signs, mailboxes and fire hydrants had an inch-thick layer of snow on their sides, not on top. Ah, wind, how I love hate feel ambivalently about you!