My nose is cold. So are my feet. I’m wearing two pairs of socks, but I’m foolishly sitting by a sliding glass door and it’s two degrees out with a wind chill of minus seven. I suppose I ought to move, but if I do then I’ll see the dishes that need washing and the clothes that need folding. Perhaps I’ll just stay here and be chilly.
After 19 years in the Mid-West, I still can’t get used to the deep freeze months. Even weirder is how it can be 40 degrees one day and high of zero the next – and I don’t mean at night, but in the day. I do like the days when the sun shines, though. Out in Washington, where I grew up, the sun sometimes chooses to hide for days – weeks, even – at a time. This is a depressing truth. By contrast, here in Minnesota we use our sunglasses year-round. We often get lovely sunny days…even if the temperature doesn’t rise above ten…if you’re lucky.
I think that the ability to appreciate frigid temperatures must be inborn.
This bodes well for my children, all Minnesotan in birth and in their choosing to pronounce “aunt” to rhyme with “taunt” rather than “ant”. I am stubbornly sticking with “ant” just because I like to be different.
I also, apparently, am stubbornly sticking with this chilly spot by the giant window to do my writing today, even though there are several warmer places I could move my computer to…places like the kitchen stove, perhaps, or my electric-blanket-warmed bed.
I think this will be a short post.
I think, in fact, that a need a cup of hot tea. Or mittens (which make typing difficult). Or, preferably, a hat and a scarf. Either that or I need to move back to Miami, where I was born.
No. I’m not that desperate.
I guess I’ll stick to the short post idea.
There. I’m done.