Once at a high school lacrosse game many miles from my house, I was outside in the brutal cold, desperately trying to wrap my winter jacket and gloves and hat and scarf around me while the coach's wife wrapped herself and her two boys up in flannel-lined sleeping bags while we sat in the stands. We huddled in the corner of the bleachers, wishing and hoping for the horrifyingly chilled wind to abate (it never did), barely able to walk to our cars afterward because our feet were frozen solid.
It was well-past the middle of May when that happened not too many years ago.
Yes, welcome to New England, where you need your heater turned on in the morning and your air conditioner on by the afternoon.
I am trying to accept that it is May and it's time to start opening windows and enjoying fresh air. This would be so easy if it would just get above 49 degrees with some sense of regularity. I should be careful; now it will be my fault if it's 96 degrees tomorrow.
Bring it; I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
