I watch the snow. More than I want. More than I can tolerate. I am sick of the snow.
And I can't even complain about it, because I spent 2 1/2 weeks in Florida, while many of my friends have been here all winter, shaking and shoveling and shivering. B never took a break from the cold; she's been here the entire time. Her brother lives in Massachusetts, and he's gotten it even worse. There's my daughter in Buffalo. Brrrffalo.
I see the students down at the college, standing out in the cold, waiting for the bus, huddled under their coats and hats and scarves. They don't complain. Of all the people I know at the college, only one person other than me was able to get away -- she went to Miami with her boyfriend for one week. And I had 2 1/2 weeks. So I can't complain. But those weeks seem so long ago.
I no longer have any resistance to the cold. It seems that every week I need to put on another layer before I can feel comfortable around the house. B and I sat watching TV last night. I had a blanket around my shoulders; B had one draped over her knees. Like a couple of old people.
It's mid-February. It was 14 degrees this morning. I keep looking on the five-day forecast to see if it will start to get warmer. Then the ten-day forecast. So far, no sign of it.
My friend Mike had the foresight to buy a condominium in Florida at the bottom of the real-estate market a few years ago. Now he goes down there for three months. So he's warm and happy. And I'm green with envy. But nothing is green around here. Only white. I am icy with envy. Someone else I know left for Guatemala. I don't know what he's doing there, but I know he's not shoveling snow.
And then I get this lovely email from my sister who lives in Phoenix: "Tom: Are you getting all of this snow that we hear about over in our 78 degree weather? (Ha!)"
I give a forced laugh. I know she means well, means to be funny. But I only think to myself, I will write her in July, asking about the baking, searing, enervating 100+ degree heat.
But that gives me cold comfort. And I wonder: Is hell hot, or cold?