Uh-huh. Fifteen years ago the weather-prediction people -- and I mean all of them, from the National Weather Service to the Happy Weather Lady on local cable news -- missed a big nor'easter here in the, um, northeast. This was a "perfect storm" thing, where high tide, the full moon, tremendous wind and rain, and, I don't know, the curvature of the earth, all combined to absolutely swamp NYC. It did stuff like throw fish from the East River onto the FDR Drive. Well, they were all so embarrassed about that that now every time it looks like we have more than a little rain coming, the huge-storm warnings go up. That's what's been happening here since Wednesday. Everyone's been telling us about the Big Nor'easter approaching, Saturday night into Sunday, wowee. Yesterday people clogged the supermarkets laying in bread, milk, chicken and grapefruit. (I don't know why, but apparently surveys show that under threat of snowstorm, that's what people buy.)

So this morning, I go out to the river, and what do I find?

First, almost no one else. A raingear-clad fellow walking three big insistent dogs. A couple holding hands. And one intrepid jogger. But falling from the sky? Rain/sleet/hail, depending on the moment and the wind. And on the ground? Slush. The river: green and rolling. One lone red-and-black tug, puffing steam. A huge flock of seagulls riding the waves just off the sanitation pier. Leaves in the water, many shades of glossy brown. Fog, thicker south, thinner north. And right where I was walking, evidence from earlier this morning: the footprints of a giant hound. (Two points if you get the reference.) All in all, a beautiful day on the river. As always.