It's almost 40 degrees out there right now, and hallelujah for that because last night it was 2. That is not a typo. It snows a bit, rains a bit, freezes a bit, melts, and starts all over again. Kind of fascinating stuff.
Everyone is asking how I'm doing, you know, with the cold and everything. So far I'm ok, I guess, because I haven't cried about it once. Before we moved here R's friend (and now our neighbor) said, "You have to find something you love about the winter to get you through it."
So far, I love: Watching the flakes fall (I wonder if this becomes a bore eventually or if it's like watching the sunset/rise).
The icicles, although they do look fairly dangerous. I don't want to end up like Ralphie-- well, it wasn't actually the icicle that got Ralphie, was it? It was the BB gun! Anyway, R took this picture of our icicles a few nights ago.
The sound of snow crunching under my feet.
I've learned that mittens and velcro do not mix. Also, I must remember to wear my gloves even if I think I don't need them. The steering wheel is cold!
Oh, and I can't leave my half-full beverages in the car anymore. Last night I left Buckaroo's magic voo doo water from acupuncture in the car, and by the time I remembered, it was half an ice cube.
Finally, over the summer I was baffled by a Massachusan's ability to leave the car running for an inordinate amount of time, but now I think that it must be a result of living in the cold. If Buckaroo falls asleep in the car I have to leave it running until he wakes up. If I want to dash into the market for a stick of butter while Buckaroo and Sweet Potato wait in the car, same deal. Now I see why the environment is on its last legs.
All in all, I'm surviving-- better than surviving. I'm enjoying the snow and blue skies much more than the never-ending rain and mosquitoes. I keep forgetting, though, that it's not officially winter yet, so I suppose I shouldn't jinx myself.
Now, Sweet Potato has offered me piano lessons for my Christmas gift, and I'm off to play.