They say when there’s nothing else to talk about, talk about the weather. I continue to grow more curious as to who exactly these people are. They’re so often right.

I’d like to talk about the weather. Because when I wake up tomorrow, this extraordinary weather, this perfection that’s graced us in otherwise miserably imperfect times, this warmth that I – that we – so desperately needed will be gone.

And it will be cold again.

And everything will be back to what’s become the new normal. The new ordinary.

These days, the norm…the ordinary has rotted into a prickly mold that stings just to think about, a rash of freezer burn worsened by this viciously cold winter here in New York.  

So who’d have thunk it that all we needed was a just little bit of sun to blanket us from ordinary, if only just for a bit?

What a 48 hours we had. It felt good. When was the last time we could say that here in New York City?

It felt good.

Things have felt as far from good as it could possibly get this winter. What started last year as a “let’s-not-call-it-a-recession-yet” has morphed into a “let’s-not-call-it-a-depression-yet.” Yet here we are, grasping onto sunlight and warmth to pull us from the depressing reality of our let’s-not-call-it-a-depression-yet.

Perhaps if we start planting Zoloft into the ground, the warmth will come back.

Did you get outside this weekend? I hope you did. It was wonderful. And it was so wonderfully evident.

People were everywhere. Smiling. Enjoying this vacation. Talking to each other. Smiling. Sitting outside to eat. Walking their dogs. Good god were there a lot of dogs out this weekend.

And hey, did I mention smiling?

It felt good this weekend and it felt good to see people feeling good. That’s not part of the norm these days. Who knew smiling could be so extraordinary?

I walked from my apartment in Murray Hill today down to SoHo and back to take in as much as I could of this break from reality. To soak in the smiling and the sun and the life that’s been sucked out of this city. A friend of mine recommended we move to southern California, where we can feel this warmth all the time.

But I’d rather stay here, even if it means enduring the bitter cold reality just a bit longer.

And it didn’t take long for reality to set back in. On the walk back, it had already begun to cool down a bit, and the sky opened up and it started to rain. And everyone retreated to wherever it was they pulled themselves from. And it started to feel normal again.

On 22nd Street at Third Avenue, a man in a ragged track suit holding a garbage bag stood on the corner telling anyone who would listen that he needed help. I remember hearing him scream that he’d take anything. Soap. Deodorant. That he had a kid. That he’d take anything.

My friend turned to me.

“This sucks,” she said. “Tomorrow it’s supposed to be 45 and rainy.”