rain today

Remember yesterday, when I said I took the time to observe the stars and enjoy the still chill of the night, knowing it would not be the same today?

In preparing to take Brogan out for his walk *this* evening, this is what I wore: a cotton tank covered by a long-sleeve midweight capilene shirt covered by a cotton sweater covered by a waterproof winter parka with a midweight fleece liner. With a wool scarf. And those fabulous new cashmere gloves.

That was just the top half of me. On the bottom, I wore winter-weight water- and windproof pants over a pair of cozy fleece thermal liner pants. I also wore some hand-knit socks and waterproof trail runners.

The pup Brogan wore a little red parka of his own.

As we walked out of my building, I thought perhaps I had overdone it. It was only 37 degrees -- warmer than last night -- but the wind was blowing, and it had been raining. I learned the hard way earlier this winter not to trust the fact that it's *not* raining when I walk outside. Soon enough, it will be.

And so it was about halfway through our walk that the wind picked up to a ceaseless force of air coming from the cold, cold East and the rain started to come down steadily.

That part which was exposed -- my head, basically -- was icing up. The damp wind was so cold that when I breathed through my mouth, my front teeth felt like I'd just plunged them into ice cream. Not a pleasant senstation but still rather invigorating.

But the rest of me was dry and, for the first time in the past week or so, not shivering. I had finally chosen enough layers to repel the cold. In these conditions, I headed toward one of my regular drop-off sites for Brogan's "remains of the day," which I dutifully collect and dispose of in public receptacles (and sometimes the occasional private bin).

As I tossed the bag into the trash, a man came out of the coffeehouse nearby. He had a plastic bag and, in the wind and rain, was going to empty the trash and put in a new bag. I had always wondered who did this on the street. I thought it was "the city," whatever that means.

The man, with the hood of his parka pulled up and snug over a hat, greeted me warmly. "How are you this evening, miss?"

I was trotting past and intitially mumbled, Fine thanks. But the tone of his voice had caught me, and several steps away, I turned my face into the bitter wind to respond more politely, How are you? Enjoying this weather?

He shook his head at me with a smile. "Actually," he said, "I just do what I can to keep moving." And in the light from the coffeehouse, I realized I was talking to a homeless person. I felt like I had put my foot into my mouth.

An interesting exchange ensued, completely lacking in the hard-luck story I'm accustomed to hearing from the spangers I run into on the street all the time. I asked him how he made it through such cold, wet nights, and he explained why he didn't seek shelter downtown. We talked there in the nasty weather for a few moments, me in all toasty, high-tech waterproof everything -- to stay comfortable on a 40-minute jaunt -- and him in a dirty old canvas parka he wears day-in, day-out. He was changing the garbage bags at the can in front of the coffeehouse in exchange for some free coffee and a warm place to sit for a few hours.

He pointed to Brogan. "Your dog's jacket is really cute," he said, without a bit of sarcasm or irony.

I felt like a walking absurdity. Even more so for only having 55 cents in my pockets, which I gave him when he asked for some spange. It's too cold a night to give someone the cold shoulder. Come summer, when the immense disparity between his position and mine is less obvious, I suppose I shall feel free to ignore him....