Wednesday November 30, 1988, was cold and blustery. There was a wet snow falling. Not accumulating, just making everything wet and colder. I was wearing my dress coat, long, black and white houndstooth check. Even in the car with the heater blasting, I could not get warm.
Driving on the Susquehanna Trail, we approached men from the electric utility working alongside the road. They stopped working to watch us pass. One of them, probably close to my age, took off his hat as we passed. My eyes watched him until other cars blocked my view. He was still standing still, holding his hat.
Once out of the car, The wind cut through me. Even my taller siblings and father failed to provide a good wind break. So I stood there shaking with the cold. The cold of the wind and the even colder ground.
I finally realized the problem was my dress. I was wearing the wrong dress. It was obviously too thin of a material for this weather. It was the only one I could find the day before that was my size and black. It never occurred to me at age 26, that I would need to have a good black dress on hand for funerals. I know better now.