Might As Well Be Antarctica

Could it be any colder? Here in Chicagoland, it is downright gelid; the kind of weather where it is so cold that you gasp when you walk outside and feel like your lungs have frozen. I have spent the day sprinting from warm car to warm building to warm car to warm house, while wearing my coziest winter woolies. I’ve been drinking cup after cup of something hot. Every year around this time, I contemplate a permanent move south of the border. I don’t care which border, just south of anyone, where it must be warmer than it is here. If you are reading this and live in a tropical climate, I am going to have to resent you for a couple of weeks.

Last night Super Hubs and I went to a dinner party at a large sprawling house in the country. It was beautifully decorated with collections of art and objects from around the world. We had a fabulous time visiting with this couple who are so gifted in hospitality. We sat by the fireplace sipping wine and warming our feet on the resident dog; an Australian something-or-other who resembles a large, furry brown bear.

When we drove home, the temperature was a record-breaking -6 degrees. Negative Six! There were very few cars on the road, and the landscape looked so bleak and raw that it made me feel lonely inside, and I was relieved when we arrived back at our warm home. Then our dachshund declined to go outside for his nightly elimination ritual. He flat out refused when I opened the sliding glass door and he felt a draft of the frigidity, so he ended up having to keep his legs crossed all night. He shrank away from the door again this morning, until I bundled him up in his brown canine wrap (which makes him look like a bratwurst-in-a-bun) and shoved his butt out the door.

I am making homemade soups and lighting fires on the hearth and worrying about the homeless. The thermostat is supposed to climb into the double-digits later this week, which will feel balmy in comparison. But still, I despair and long for spring and butterflies.