Ithaka Bound

Brrrrrr

Do I follow the snow or does the snow follow me?

I left DC shortly after the storm of the century.  I arrived in Wisconsin the day before two feet of snow fell.  A month later, I arrived back in DC the day after a snow emergency to find my building without heat or water.  Yesterday, another snowfall turned the city into a winter wonderland.

No complaints though; if it’s going to be winter, I much prefer it with snow.

While in Wisconsin, I realized that I’ve become a major wuss when it comes to tolerating cold weather.  When my 14 year-old niece was walking around in nothing warmer than a sweatshirt, I was bundled in a wool coat and wearing a polartec cap, scarf and fleece lined mittens. And I was still shivering.

My parents keep their house a balmy 68 degrees.  They cranked the heat up to 69 when they noticed my lips turning blue and icicles forming on my eyelashes.  I usually had three layers on and sat in the sun spot in the living room.

This wussification bothers the part of me that likes to imagine itself an explorer who could have made the trek with Sir Edmond Hillary.  I feel like I should be at least as hardy as young teens and senior citizens, but then, I really enjoy the snow from my toasty living room.

The photo in this post has no relation whatsoever to the topic — I was nostalgic for a warmer, balmier world.

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