Well, it's January 6th (I think), and it's a balmy 82 here in Jacksonville. Beautiful. I love this city. My folks are scattered all over the US, and wherever they are, it's colder than it is here.
I hate the cold. My youngest daughter wonders if she'll ever see snow. I tell her I hope so, but I also hope I don't have to see it with her. Brrrrr. I had enough of snow when I was a kid in Ohio.
Growing up, my sister and I had matching snowsuits, mine red and hers blue. We'd layer on every article of clothing we owned, plus gloves and mittens, ski mask, toboggan hat, boots two sizes bigger than our regular shoe size (because of the ten pairs of socks), and then fight our way into our snowsuits. Clomp outside for ten minutes to make another part of the snowman, then sh-sh-sh-shiver our way to the back door, where we'd enter the kitchen at the laundry-room door, strip it all off so mom could throw it in the dryer, and shiver our way to the bathroom where she'd have a lukewarm bath (that felt like boiling water to our frozen skins) to warm up in...and then to the kitchen for hot cocoa and toast. By then, the stuff in the dryer was done, and we'd do it all again. That was really nice of her, but we must've been crazy. By the time I was a teenager, I never wanted to see snow again. You can only slip on the ice and fall on your ass in front of the cutest guy in school thirty or so times before you get a real complex about it. Now I'm over the don't-let-me-embarrass-myself-in-front-of-so-and-so thing, but I still don't want to fall and break something...and since I'm a born klutz, I'm at risk every day, rain or shine.
No snow, no thanks.
82. In January. I love this city.
I hate the cold. My youngest daughter wonders if she'll ever see snow. I tell her I hope so, but I also hope I don't have to see it with her. Brrrrr. I had enough of snow when I was a kid in Ohio.
Growing up, my sister and I had matching snowsuits, mine red and hers blue. We'd layer on every article of clothing we owned, plus gloves and mittens, ski mask, toboggan hat, boots two sizes bigger than our regular shoe size (because of the ten pairs of socks), and then fight our way into our snowsuits. Clomp outside for ten minutes to make another part of the snowman, then sh-sh-sh-shiver our way to the back door, where we'd enter the kitchen at the laundry-room door, strip it all off so mom could throw it in the dryer, and shiver our way to the bathroom where she'd have a lukewarm bath (that felt like boiling water to our frozen skins) to warm up in...and then to the kitchen for hot cocoa and toast. By then, the stuff in the dryer was done, and we'd do it all again. That was really nice of her, but we must've been crazy. By the time I was a teenager, I never wanted to see snow again. You can only slip on the ice and fall on your ass in front of the cutest guy in school thirty or so times before you get a real complex about it. Now I'm over the don't-let-me-embarrass-myself-in-front-of-so-and-so thing, but I still don't want to fall and break something...and since I'm a born klutz, I'm at risk every day, rain or shine.
No snow, no thanks.
82. In January. I love this city.
(Original photo by DeusXFlorida, some rights reserved.)
No comments:
Post a Comment