I’ve been stalled in writing because I am waiting for my mind to thaw, and my fingers feel like stiff little icicles that do not want to be separated from each other. I feel guilty living in Florida and complaining about the cold, but it is currently 46 degrees outside which is typically unheard of in our neck of the woods. And my husband and I are incredibly stubborn. We won’t turn on the heat pump unless things become dire. We don’t like the smell of burnt dust. I read something on the internet that said that those of us complaining about the cold, just can’t wait for the days that we can complain about the heat. Yes, that’s about right.
When I was in my twenties I had a boss who liked to ask quirky questions. She once asked whether I would prefer to freeze to death, or to be overheated to death. While I pondered the question (and also why she was asking it), she mentioned that freezing to death is actually a very calm, gentle, easy-going death. I never asked her how she knew this, but I never forgot this particular moment either. When I think about this now, I honestly pick “neither” forms of death. I pick neither.
I always feel bad for people from up north who come to Florida in December and January and end up coming in to visit us during a cold spell. The stubborn disappointment is palpable. Everyone seems to think that Florida is always sweltering because they once went to Disney World in July. These defiant winter tourists still wear their shorts and t-shirts and flip-flops and they pretend not to notice that their toes are turning blue. And of course, we overly dramatic Floridians are bundled up like we are about to ascend Mt. Everest, as we layer on every old coat which we have ever owned (“it’s a good thing that I kept my high school ski jacket for days like these”).
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:
1987. How do you feel about photography?