The parka report
I’ve been back in Pittsburgh for 11 years. Almost 12! I am very happy being back in the ‘Burgh, but, after 10 years in sunny California, I still haven’t adjusted to the weather.
Let’s face it. I am a lizard person. I thrive in heat and suffer through the cold. My ideal temperature is 110 degrees. I should be sunning myself on a rock in the Mojave Desert, instead of hiding from snowflakes.
My biggest problem is that I love living here.
Pittsburgh has great people, art and architecture, live theater and comedy. I’m here to stay. I’m not leaving unless villagers with pitchforks and torches run me out of town, which, sadly, is not completely out of the question.
I’m happy from October to March, but, recently, Mother Nature has turned the thermostat all the way down. Winter doesn’t officially start until Dec. 21, but it’s here.
To survive the long Southwestern Pennsylvanian winters, I plan accordingly. I cover every inch of skin with some sort of fabric: denim, flannel, spandex, leather, tweed, etc. Whatever I’ve got.
Last week, I put on long underwear, corduroy pants, a T-shirt, a polo shirt, a sweater, a parka with a faux fur collar, gloves, and a balaclava. It was exhausting just getting into gear. I was Buzz Aldrin suiting up for a spacewalk.
Side note: When I pull the black balaclava over my nose, I look like a fat ninja. When I pull it down under my chin, I look like a Greek widow. I drive around town looking like someone’s yia yia all winter long.
But I digress, like I do. I used to park my car in the Strip, several blocks from the office. When I had to relocate back to the office from working at home, I had to bring back a box of files. It was too heavy to lug through the streets of Pittsburgh. Instead, I parked in the lot next to the building, which was $2 more a day. The convenience was worth it. I park in the lot across the street from my building every day.
Still, I go full Buzz Aldrin to drive from my house to a parking garage downtown, ride down one elevator, walk across the street and go up another elevator. Basically, I don layers of garments to walk across Fifth Avenue.
Somedays, I must dodge and weave cars and busses like a live action version of Frogger, but, most days, I stroll from one door to the next. It’s a straight shot.
My point is – and I do have one – I don’t like being cold, not even for the 28 seconds that I have to be outside.
At 5, I walked out with a coworker. When we were hit by a cold blast of wind exiting the building, I cried, “Yikes! It’s cold.”
My colleague reminded me, “Winter is coming. Like it or not.”
I chose “not,” but, literally and figuratively, I’ve got it covered.