The other rough thing about coming back was the unusually cold weather here in SF, a far cry from the long summer days in Sydney. Apparently, I've lost whatever tolerance for the cold I developed throughout all those frosty winters in Jersey when I'd wake up to the sound of my dad shoveling, salting and sanding our driveway. (I would have helped were all my energy not focused on the important task of willing the public school mother's phone chain to launch into action announcing a snow day....from under the covers.)
Without a working heater in my apartment, I found myself among my fellow Mission residents in line for a discount space heater at a shady Mission "electronics" store. Based on the way we were behaving, you would have thought this was the Blizzard of '78. "Ay, que frio!" we complained to one another as we rubbed our hands together dramatically and sipped hot coffee. For a brief moment, I considered stocking my fridge with cold cuts, but then I remembered I haven't eaten sliced ham in at least 15 years and it wasn't nearly cold enough to snow...and the only phone chain I'm now part of is the one where your friend gives birth and you pass on the news...and still get out of bed and go to work.