It's been one of the snowiest, coldest winters on record here. Frankly, I am not digging it so much. I didn't move to the south to delight in moody gray skies, make charming snow angels, or wear three layers of wool at one time. I moved here to broil under the sun and sweat through long still evenings with humidity so thick you feel you are swimming. Oh, August, no one appreciates you as I do.
Winter can be pretty. I guess. eh.
There have, of course, been some highlights. Sledding with my entire family the day after Christmas is one. I don't think I'd been sledding in about 15 years. I'd forgotten how fun it is. Hmm. I feel like there have been other highlights. None are coming to mind right now though.
I've taken up knitting as that feels appropriate. I'm not very good at knitting. (How in God's name are you supposed to NOT use your index finger to lift your source needle over your working needle? I don't understand. My index finger hurts like heck though.) I got a Penguin Classics edition of Little Women for Christmas--one of the beautiful ones with the cover by Coralie Bickford-Smith--and I have been reading that to comfort myself. Marmee would not have approved of my self-indulgent complaining, would she? She would lovingly remind me that cold weather is fortifying to the constitution and that hardship strengthens our characters. Marmees are always right.
Stay warm, friends.