I waited until December 7th to break my winter coat out of its storage hiding spot. As long as I could. I needed it probably a week or so ago, but I made it without it. I was grouchy and cold, but at least I didn’t have to wear a winter coat. That’s the indication that it’s finally getting cold. I don’t want to believe cold is happening as long as I can. Hell, I don’t even believe it’s less than three weeks until Christmas.
As I ran (literally) around my room this morning getting ready for work, I reached into the coat’s excessively large pockets hoping to find some sort of hidden goodies like I usually find when I first get a coat out of hiding. No, sadly, there was nothing. Empty pockets and black and grey plaid everywhere. Except maybe 63 cents. I definitely didn’t hit the jackpot.
I’d forgotten how long the coat is–so long my arms are nearly too short to reach the zipper. The coat itself’s good when it comes to getting my arms into the sleeves to stay warm when it’s extra cold outside, but not for putting it on. It’s awkward and makes me feel like a child again, when I’d put my dad’s jackets on at the racetrack when it was cold, like on those opening nights in early April. It was the real start of spring then and it was always the best. That cold was always worth it. I think about those nights and the hot chocolate and the French fries and pizza and camaraderie with the fans we’ve had seats next to longer than I’ve been alive and I can’t help but be filled with happiness. Now that I live in Virginia and my family still lives in New York, I make sure to take extra trips home in the summertime so I can have those fries and savor all of those memories.
I walked home from the bus stop today after leaving the office a little later than normal in the dark and the cold, grateful for that big, heavy coat and the sparkly striped fleece leggings I wore. Traffic was worse than normal, but the walk itself wasn’t too bad.
I came home, realized I’d missed Jeopardy (I’m not-so-secretly a very old soul), and settled in with leftovers for dinner and found that the handwarmers I’d ordered arrived.
They’re these adorable little slices of toast that I’m grateful to be using while writing this. If I type too much, even in the summertime, my fingers get cold and stiff and I subsequently become very very grouchy. I feel the same way about my fingers as I do about my toes. They can’t be cold or damp. If they are, I’m incredibly irritable. I’m hoping to alleviate a little bit of this with these toasty warm buddies and be able to get through a day in the office without feeling like my fingers are going to fall off.
I hate the winter, I hate the cold. I hate feeling cold and I hate how sad everything looks when the leaves turn brown and the trees are bare. I was born in late summer, when everything is green and bright and it’s hot as Hades out most of the time. I’m used to that, even being from Upstate New York. (You’d be surprised how warm it gets up there.)
But the warmth of blankets, big coats, snuggles, and little fuzzy pieces of toast makes the cold worthwhile. At least for now. I may be saying something different in February when I’ve had just about enough of winter.