Cold

I always assume that that first cold day means the next three or four months will be exactly that temperature or colder, and I hunker down and begin wearing strange combinations of socks, slippers, and a fuzzy bathrobe over my pajamas, just hoping to survive until spring. Plenty of people, especially Craig, don't understand this attitude at all. Craig will point out all the fun things about winter-- snow days, hot cocoa, building a fire-- and try to cheer me up. And while I do enjoy those things, it never seems worth all the cold to me.

I think Craig is starting to understand me better, though. Several times recently, as I cuddled up to him in a desperate attempt to steal some body heat, he's pointed out that the tip of my nose is cold. This seems to surprise him.

"How can your nose be cold?!?!" he asks.

And I respond with, "ALL of me is cold! This is why I hate winter so much!"

Seriously. I'm not sure if I just have poor circulation or if I somehow missed out on the warm-blooded aspect of being human or what. But it is a fact: I get cold all over way too easily. And for those of you who aren't afflicted with this problem, let me just assure you that if you spent three months with most of your body cold, you'd hate it, too. I'm a summer person, through and through.

But, having said all that, I have to admit that it's always a happy and welcome surprise when the weather warms up for a few days, even though winter has hardly even started yet. We had one of those lovely days this last Sunday. The morning started out really foggy, which is unusual around here, but by the time we left church, it was in the mid-seventies outside, and we drove home with the windows rolled down.

It was heaven.