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The Postscript: When every day is Sunday

This week between Christmas and New Year’s Day is a strange time, a time when every day feels like Sunday.

This morning, I made a big mistake. I checked the temperature. At 10:00 it was 42! That means in the coldest hour of the early morning, it was near freezing. How can that be? It didn’t feel that cold when I walked out to my bodega. I wasn’t cold until I looked at the thermometer on the outer wall.

My ceramic heater is swiveling back and forth, the setting on Hi. I’m not sure if that is a temperature or a greeting. Hi. Hi. Hi.

My little brick house, planted in the midst of...

 

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