Cold never used to trouble me – and in fact I still adore winter, and before that fall, and rank Kansas summer heat just above root canal. But the fact remains that I am freezing. While walking Cleo yesterday – she loves it, both obvious and oblivious – the world could see only my nose. Encased in two tanks, a thick sweater, tights under jeans, red scarf, big coat, gloves, jammed-down hat and sunglasses, I found myself in a mummified winter state, not altogether unpleasant, an insulated place unlocked by parkas.
Cleo has seen three winters now, but is still deliriously newborn come January, amazed at her paws disappearing in white. As she romped around and we circled the quiet chill of the park, a lovely mental heater kicked in. Thinking other thoughts, answering your own questions, replaying scenes from a good day, a bad year – anything but it’s so cold. That engine is your own pot on the stove, and it lets you kick snow like coconut, forget why you came and believe, with warm conviction, that you don’t mind being there at all.
* Here’s a question – hey Marilyn, where’s the food? I’m getting sick of all this yammer.
Well my honest friends, I defrosted my fingers over many a delicious bite this week, and they’re all coming your way in the next. Stay tuned, and stay warm.