Have I mentioned that I hate feeling cold? Cold is inescapable. You must take it into account or slowly turn into an ice cube. It is also a thief. It steals my office because my office is over the garage and not heated. We have bought space heaters, and they give the illusion of heat until you’ve been working for a couple of hours and you start to shiver. Adjusting to the wonder of having my own office took a while, but we’d gotten into a swing. I’m finishing up and hitting the meat of a few projects and to be beaten back to working on my bed or taking over the dining room table is discouraging.
Cold means socks, shoes, gloves, bulky sweaters, hyper-engineered coats. I like keeping my articles of clothing to a minimum. As soon as the weather was deemed warm enough I had a deal with my parents that I could run bare foot as long as I didn’t complain. I didn’t complain. I reveled, if bare feet were good enough for Laura Ingalls they were good enough for me. We are officially past the jackets and sweatshirt time in Michigan’s fall and into coat season. I have two hyper-engineered coats. I like them both, but one is for skinny me and the other for the other me. I’ve lost some weight, so I’m hoping I can wear my yellow coat this season. Yellow, for me, is a warning color, an in-case-of-emergency color. I like to think I’m good in an emergency. I stay calm, figure out what needs done, and get it done. When the crisis is over I’m no good for a day or two after, but in the moment I’m steady. When I wear my yellow coat I like to think I’m advertising a source of help. It’s the reason I haven’t given it away.
There is no help for winter. There is hunkering down and enduring. It is so boring. I don’t think I’d miss the change of seasons, but I am not sure I am ready to trade them for alligators.
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