Braving the elements

WINTER OF DISCONTENT? HELL NO, BRING IT ON!
Well, after weeks of anxious waiting by me, winter has at long last appeared in New England. Last Monday morning it snowed a bit, but it had mostly turned to slush by the time I got out of the shower and left to go to work. However, the weather did take a noticeable turn with temperatures dipping down into and below the twenties. All very fine by me. Prior to last week, it was constantly hovering around 50 degrees and the sky was filled with nothing but a dreary, grey rain. I'd much prefer it to be below freezing and snowing.

According to an online poll on the Weather Channel's website, 58.5% of the American populace prefer to swelter in extreme summer heat than endure frigid winter cold. Count me in the minority for that one. My philosophy is that if you're cold you can always throw a sweater on; if it's 95 degrees out and the AC is broken then you're fucked. Ten out of ten times, I'd rather be lost in the Yukon with a book of matches than stuck in the Sahara with a Dasani. But since moving to New England, all anyone and everyone can tell me is how a Georgia boy like me is going to hate the winters here.

I like the winter. Maybe I read too many stories about the Malemute Kid in my youth and formed some kind of Romantic, idyllic connection between them and the cold, white North, but I have such a respectful, fascination with the freezing, frost-gloved grip of Winter. I like the cold. I like the wind whipping up in my face, setting my cheekbones and the tips of my ears on fire. I like the snowflakes that clump on my jacket and stick in my eyelashes. I love the smell of woodsmoke and the taste of the cold air as I breathe it into my lungs. I like the numbness and the sensation of my heart beating to keep my limbs supplied with hot blood. I like the feeling of life fighting against the bitter chill that seeps in your bones, threatening to still every living molecule in your body.

But most of all, I like coming home and in out of the cold: that rush of relief as you throw off wet scarf, gloves, and coat and sit in front of the fire or the heat register, hot chocolate in hand. That is a damn good feeling.

WATERLOGGED
For some odd reason, I have been fixed on the idea of drowning lately. I have had nightmares about it happening to me and I've become terrified at the prospect of being lost at sea after a trans-Atlantic plane crash. The funny thing is that I'm planning no ocean voyages or overseas trips anytime soon, so I'm not anxious about anything like that. I suspect it may have something to do with watching 'Casino Royale', as the ending was a little intense and I almost had to forcibly check my gag reflex. I suppose it doesn't help much either that I am currently reading a book about an Indian boy lost at sea for over 6 months.