The days are too cold, too short and too dreary. I’m shivering in my house. This, despite wearing a sweatshirt over my sweater, alpaca socks and being wrapped in a navy fleece blanket. I’m drinking tea with a vengeance. Eating food as though I’m actually hungry. Putting off outside errands, thinking they can wait till spring.
For the first time in my life, I actually toy with moving to Florida. (Toy, Mom, don’t get too excited). And I HATE Florida. This feeling sorry for my frigid Northeastern self is becoming well, rather unbecoming.
My niece just got into graduate school at Boston University. She’s so thrilled, and so is her aunt.
My daughter is at the Sundance Film Festival working, partying, getting very little sleep. She’ll call home infrequently; usually from a spot on a hotel sofa that she’s sharing with someone famous.
My son loves his new internship in Washington and his best friend from high school just asked him to be Best Man.
My spring semester started last week and, honestly I’m pretty excited about my new students. They seem energetic and engaged.
My latest blood work shows I now have the lowest cholesterol I’ve had in decades!
My boyfriend and I love nothing more than a snowed-in weekend in front of the fireplace.
Who cares if the Eagles blew their Super Bowl run, and we now have to watch the other PA team? The Phils signed Cliff Lee!
We see old friends this weekend and the next few coming up. Winter does that. It causes us to reconnect.
I’m starting a new book project that I am excited and nervous about.
The cardinals look gorgeous against the white snow, and I’m certain they appreciate that I trudge outside in the cold to keep the bird feeders filled.
My newspaper guy drives all the way up my driveway to throw my Inquirer right against the garage door. The Christmas tip paid off.
I’m starting to feel better. A little warmer. The feeling is returning to my fingers, my toes. The chill is gone.
Who am I kidding? It’s 11 degrees.