The weather peaked at eighty degrees yesterday, a stark contrast from the chilly thirties and forties commonplace in late March. I spent my morning with my friend, as I had slept over the night before. When I woke up, there was a warm buzz in the air, similar to the feeling of crickets buzzing on a July night. We made eggs and sausages for breakfast. The eggs were salty and the sausages were a frozen disaster, but it was good underneath the sun rays.
Later, my family and I drove to New York in our new car. We bought it just yesterday, taking the opportunity to upgrade before new tariffs skyrocket car prices. After emerging from the dingy fluorescent lights of the Lincoln Tunnel, we headed straight to the Union Square Farmers' Market. The temperature just kept climbing, and it felt good to finally wear shorts again. Despite the summer-esque heat, the stands were still sparse. Quality heirloom tomatoes and spicy basil are not exactly in season.
Next, we headed over to Dumbo. My sister attended a zen looming workshop, and my mom, dad, and I worked in a familiar coffee shop. I spend the better part of two hours sipping my elderberry hibiscus tea and attempting to understand redox reactions. The heat was persistent, and outside the sun was near blinding. The wind, however, still had the chill of a northeastern winter.
Dinnertime came, and we drove down to Red Hook in search of some satisfying barbecue. All of the restaurants, even the crummy dive bars, were stuffed and had lines down the block. It was caused by a visiting cruise ship. I saw it, huge, towering over Brooklyn like a skyscraper. We wandered around until settling on a expensive yet mediocre oyster bar and bistro. The clams casino was subpar, and the best thing about my lobster roll was the toasted bread. As soon as I stepped outside, there was a palpable change in weather. It was cold, and about to rain.
To end the night, we headed to back across the Brooklyn Bridge into Midtown. My sister was in desperate need of new clothes, so we were going shopping. We parked about two blocks away from the stores, but the freezing temperatures made the walk treacherous. My dad and I had both worn tee shirts and shorts, trying to embrace the rare heat. We hadn't brought any sweaters, so when we got out the car and there was wind, rain, and a balmy temperature of fourty-five degrees, it was terrible. People wearing thick, woolen black coats gave me funny looks, and my wet socks did me no favors.
As soon as we reached the stores, my dad and I both bought sweaters. I opted for a white hoodie, while my dad chose an olive windbreaker. That was all I bought, but my sister got a heap of clothes. She just turned eleven, and has been wanting to sport a new, "cool" look. When we got home, she did a fashion show of all her new apparel. She strutted from her lavender bedroom cluttered with a lifetimes accumulation of stuffies in her new jeans and looked two years older.
The warm day was nice, but it is March. All day, reminders of why the day was so warm had been popping up. The empty farmers market stands, the cold wind, the pure volume of stuff in the stores. Even the car, bought only because of the tumultuous financial state of our country.
Today, it is cold again. The rest of the week, it will rain.
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