Article July 19, 2004 Issue

The red umbrella

By Kim Shippey Senior Writer

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE LONG-AWAITED spring mornings when suddenly you can hurl yourself onto the sidewalk without reaching for boots and an overcoat. And if it's a bit cooler than you thought, you'll go coatless anyway out of appreciation for the new season—and bold defiance of the cold.

In the hour before I left for church that Sunday, I wanted a newspaper and a fast breakfast. But halfway down the first block, cold drops of rain hit my unshaven cheeks. I dashed back home, grabbed an umbrella from a stand in the unlighted entrance hall, and was back on the doughnut hunt.

I had gone two blocks before I noticed that the umbrella I'd taken was as scarlet as the season's new azaleas and bore the name of a world-famous cosmetics house. It was also a bit small for me in the thickening rain shower.

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