The middle of January seems to be the coldest time of the year. Laying in bed under the down comforter all day warms me. Today, the temperature is 25, not really cold. The teens and single digits are colder, not to mention the sub-zero's. Yet, today has that mid-January frigid feel to me. I'm wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, can't wait to feel the soft heaviness of the down comforter over me on my 95 degree water bed.
Sitting in the Middlesex Diner with the solid mug of hot O'Neil tea cuddled in my hands radiating warmth to the rest of my body. Yet, on these days, I never get to the core of my body. I'm cold down to my depths. The sun hidden behind gray clouds never sharing the gold heat cheats me.
The roaring fire of my childhood brings pleasant memories. Laying next to it on these winter days was the only place to be. I put up with Lawrence Welk and Hee Haw, just to be near it. The rest of the house had a chill due to being so large. My second thing to do on a day like this was lay under the covers of my bed, reading Little House books. Somehow reading about the long winter made me warmer, yet wanting a hot potato.
Hard to believe in two days, the forecast claims it will be 50. I know getting out in the snow is the best remedy for this time of year. The blood starts pumping, and that is just with putting on all the clothes. I miss the sunshine of yesterday morning.
Winter night frolicking brought lots of fun, too. Tubing over at the school before the hill was gutted for the football stadium. Tramping around in the clear night. Ice skating at Valley Mould, or at least pretending. One time my dad took me to Swamp Road and the dachshund, Nicky, too, as he scattered over the ice on his short legs. Many people skating as well. The security light shining on us.
A night of movies sounds good to me, right now, as I nurse a sore rib.