The winter that refuses to die reared back and took another claw at us this morning.
People are not happy.
My personal response: I'm wearing bright colors from now until it warms up, even if I have to scrape the bottom of my closet to find them (my winter wardrobe is not heavy on the brights, but times are desperate!)
Conversation in the car this morning, driving up to work:
J: Can you believe a few days ago we were in Mexico, feeling too hot?
Me: (wistfully) Drinking fresh-squeezed juices...looking at the colors...
J: Sitting around enjoying the sun like everyone else...
Me: (watching a mother dragging her kid across the slush-filled street on a sled) Look at these people! Theyr'e miserable!
J: But down there, your whole world could explode in an earthquake at any moment! Or your garden could be covered in volcanic ash, how would you like that?
Me: (long pause...looking out the window...) I'll take it.
Of course, that's not really how I feel, I mean, I'm tough, I love living in this wonderful climate, it builds character. That's what we keep telling ourselves as we shovel out our cars and slog to work, wrap ourselves in black quilted blankets and fur, clean up the floors where we've tracked in water and snow and mud and salt, and sit under special UV lamps to avoid depression six months out of the year (that we delude ourselves into thinking is only four.) People who live in hot climates are lazy and inferior. Uh-huh.