Tuesday, 7 June 2011
The winter of my discontent
I'm not a winter person. Dragging myself from under the doona on a cold morning. Not my thing. Getting up to my children on a cold winter's night. Not my thing. The sun setting by 5pm. Not my thing. Dry, flaky skin. Not my thing. Cold fingers and toes. Not my thing. Winter. Not my thing.
During the summer months, I fool myself into believing I'm a winter person. I dream of casseroles and nights tucked up on the lounge next to the heater. I dream about boots, coats and layers. I dream about frosty mornings and bowls of hot porridge and brown sugar. The thing is the moment the mercury dips below 20 (68 F, for my American friends), I'm not happy. I start to remember that I hate putting on layers and layers of clothes. I remember that I hate wearing boots. I remember that I hate the way my nose runs when a cold wind whips up. I remember that I like being warm.
In fact, I love balmy evenings and frosty drinks. I love a warm summer breeze. I love throwing on a sun dress and a pair of sandals and running out the door. I love cooling off under a sprinkler. I love late summer nights where the sun stays up until 8pm. I even like humidity.
So, while my toes are thawing next to the heater, I'm dreaming of crisp salads and plates of cold seafood. Frosty glasses of semillon. Long, lazy days. Early mornings at the beach before the heat of the midday sun. Washing drying before 10am. Sweet smelling flowers.
I guess I'm lucky I live somewhere where the winters are short and the summers warm and long. Where the colder months are mild, just a few weeks where there's a blip on the forecast. Where even on a cold winter's day the sun shines and the sky is blue.
Bring on summer, I say!