The weather here has been, in an overused word, extreme.
The summer was almost unbearably hot, and it was followed by an immediate and definite autumn.
No slow lull into the changing season. Just hot, then cold-ish.
Two weeks ago, we were hunkering down while Sandy blew her angry winds past the windows.
(We escaped any real damage; just lots of fallen leaves and branches, and a roof shingle or two. We were lucky. Really, really lucky.)
Hurricanes, by their very nature, are of a tropical ilk. Days after this one, temperatures were just barely making it above the freezing mark.
Last week, it snowed.
All of these extremes in temperature and conditions take a toll.
Not just on our wardrobes and immune systems, which are struggling to keep up from day to day, but on our streets.
And streets around these parts aren't exactly smooth and baby's butt-like to begin with.
The crazy temperatures have the blacktop contracting and expanding, buckling and pothole-ing.
And apparently, we aren't the only ones with a pothole problem.
In Paris, the problem is so bad that it caused a fed-up Juliana Santacruz Herrera to take to the streets and yarn-bomb the pesky pits.
Perhaps I should grab some yarn and needles and take a page from Herrers's book.