“As I write, the weather station says that it’s 1° F, but it feels like -17°F. With the wind chill, it’s expected to drop as low as -30°F tonight. Tomorrow will more of the same. Even with the furnace chugging away, the perimeters of the house are cold. Upon passing by the windows and doors, one would swear they were wide open; sometimes as I go by, I check just to make sure. They’re closed. This is a pretty sturdy house, but in cold temps like this, nothing stops the drafts. . . . I’m grateful for my lined hoodie and double-layered sweatpants, even though I still shiver a bit here and there, because I know there are folks out in this night wind without warm clothing. Although I dread the cold weather and complain about it every year, I know it could be so much worse, and for some folks, it is.”
In a recent commentary, columnist Marge Fenelon reflected on the homeless in our midst and how a long-ago visit to a homeless shelter changed her perception of this population.
To access Ms. Fenelon’s complete essay, please visit:
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