There's something magical about growing up in New England. I can't imagine living in a place where I couldn't experience distinct seasons in full grandeur.
Okay, I'm lying. Put me on a Caribbean beach where it's just the right kind of hot everyday and the pina coladas are just the right kind of cold. And the cabana boys are just the right kind of... Ahem! Nevermind.
Each season has it's own beauty I guess. And yet, there are some flukes. Snow in May. Indian summer in November. Ice storms in March which teach a person that lake water is not only pretty to look at but can also be used for flushing toilets when the power goes out for a week straight.
Yep, Mother Nature sure has a sense of humor. And boy oh boy, do we like to talk about it.
Playing off my last post, if Facebook put a ban on weather-related status updates, I know several folks who would have nothing at all to say.
Last June, it was all about the rain. This week it's all about the cold.
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As I was getting ready to leave for work the other day, I noticed frost on my car windshield. Begrudgingly, I went on the hunt for my winter jacket. I opened the storage closet where I (in my sunshine haze only three months earlier) had buried it.
First, I found the hats, scarves and mittens. They stared out at me from their cozy, vacuum-sealed SpaceSaver bag. It was as if they had no greater desire to be unpacked from their nest than I had to release them. I stuffed them back onto the corner shelf. It's only October for goodness sake.
And then, there it was. Seasonal practicality, nestled between my daughter's wombat costume and my circa-Heathers black sequin mermaid gown. Wool. Warm and functional. Perfect for cold weather.
Ugh. I couldn't do it. I hastily closed the door of the storage closet without removing any of the contents.
In my car, shivering and driving with as little skin to steering wheel contact as possible, I was smug and rebellious.
Kiss my grits, Mother Nature!