Ye Olden Days Lacketh Convenience

Ordinarily, I'm a big fan of all things medieval.  

In fact, I even got up the courage the other day to visit the medieval collections at the library here at Notre Dame - an entire floor of non-circulating books, many of them very old and most of them in Latin.  Unfortunately I couldn't stay long - I was worried that one of the Medieval Studies doctoral students studying there would suddenly yell something like "Hey, you can't be here... you're just a law student."  Plus, more rationally, I neeeded to hurry back to the law school so I could actually get some work done that day.  But I intend to go back, scary Ph.D. candidates and all.  It was too wonderful to stay away from long.

But this post isn't about the impressive medieval collection here, or my love for crumbling Latin texts written a thousand years ago.  It's about the medieval period I'm going through in my own life, and how much I dislike it.  Turns out, I couldn't have been happy in the Dark Ages.  Or even the 1980s (although, if you ask me, the decade of big hair and Prince was the real dark age).

Last weekend, one of our neighbors moved out of our apartment building.  Normally, we probably wouldn't have noticed, but this particular neighbor happened to be the only person around with un-password protected wireless internet.  We'd been mooching internet off him all year, and now it's gone.  Mike and I decided not to sign up for our own account at this point, because we are moving at the end of next month (to a "real" apartment, with a separate bedroom and living room and a kitchen that will have more than 18 inches of counterspace, even after we move the microwave in - so exciting!).

So now, anytime we want to look up a recipe for dinner, or check to see where a Facebook event is happening, or need to look through recent decisions by the Supreme Court of India (my task for work, of late) we have to pack up our computers and either walk 3 1/2 blocks to the grocery store, or make the 20 minute walk to the law school building (despite the added distance, the law school building is usually the more attractive option - it's quieter, and has sofas).  

I know I shouldn't be complaining, especially because we conveniently had free internet for the entire school year.  But still... I miss the twentyfirst century!!

So that's what leg warmers are for...

I spent most of last week looking forward to Friday.  Not because it signaled the beginning of the weekend (with less than two weeks until finals, there's no such thing as a weekend in law school) but because the weathermen had promised a beautiful sunshiney day with temperatures in the low 70s.  I love the winter, but the thought of not having to put up with clouds and freezing winds for at least one day this April was very tantalizing.

Friday morning I pulled out my capris, which had been banished to the top shelf of the closet since September, and put a t-shirt.  At the last minute, as I headed out the door, I threw on a hoodie too.  After all, it was only 7:30 in the morning and the sun had only been up for about ten minutes... it probably wasn't perfect weather yet.

5 minutes late, as usual, I ran out of the house and began walking briskly to school.  By the time I got to the parking lot, I could tell that something was amiss.  My toes, who had been so happy about the return of the flip-flops, were beginning to protest.  

"It can't be that cold," I mentally told them.  "Suck it up."  

They didn't stop tingling, though, and as I continued walking my legs and hands and ears joined in.  Puzzled that my extremities were so bothered by what I assumed was 50 degree weather, I started to look around at my surroundings.  Someone defrosting their car window.  Crunchy, ice covered grass.  My own breath, escaping from my mouth in puffs that reminded me of the pictures of nineteenth century trains in my property casebook.  

I passed three people on my way to school.  Every single one of them was wearing gloves.  All three of them had coats.  Two of them were wearing beanies.  Smart, sensible people who actually checked the weather before dashing outside in beach wear.

"So this is how natural selection thins the gene pool,"I thought dismally.

After what seemed like a very long 25 minutes, I finally made it into the warmth of the law school building.  As my feet began to thaw enough to resume their tingling protests, I looked around at my fellow classmates and was confronted by a sea of bare feet, legs, and arms.  The girl to my right was wearing a mini skirt and flats, the boy on my left had on flipflops and shorts.  This made me feel much better about my own judgment.  Of course, it also could have prompted me to worry about the future of a legal profession in the hands of people who weren't even capable of dressing themselves appropriately for the weather... but I'm pretending that it really wasn't a matter of inferior judgment, but a signal of superior foresight.  After all, it may have been a miserable 28 degree trek to school, but when my fellow classmates and I headed home that afternoon, it was a glorious 69 degrees -- warm enough that my toes began to forgive me.