The rain showed no signs of letting up.
There I was, standing at the exit of my neighborhood Associated grocery store, watching it pour. I was a mere six-minute walk from home, but that kind of stroll feels much longer in pounding rain ... and I didn't have an umbrella.
Paul, who had a raincoat with a hood, made a run for it, but me in my silly wool coat (it wasn't raining when we left home!) stayed behind with about eight other shoppers, anxiously scanning the skies. Each time the rain let up in the slightest, it only seemed to rain even harder a few minutes later.
Rain. It's so much more of a hassle here in New York than it was in Ohio. It ruins plans. It prevents plans from being made. It makes me irritable.
This bout of rain started Friday, and the next day was joined by gusts of nearly 70 miles per hour. Havoc ensued, with trains delayed and thousands left without power. Even the Staten Island Ferry was halted for a time on Saturday night.
Paul and I hunkered down, not once leaving the apartment. An umbrella was no defense against a storm like this, and our car was parked about five blocks away. We were stranded.
In Ohio? No big deal. Living room to attached garage to vehicle to destination. Make a run for it in the parking lot. I rarely even bothered with an umbrella.
Back to the grocery store. I left my perch at the store's exit when the rain seemed to slow, only for it to come pouring down about half a block later. I found some shelter in a church's stairwell for a couple of minutes, and the rain slowed to a sprinkle.
Finally home. And I didn't leave the apartment all day.