There are seasons here, and I can feel them.
Winter is biting. We’re cold in even in the house. In the morning it’s so cold it’s like we’re camping and we don’t want to get out of the tent. Cold. In the Bay Area I knew what to expect, nothing drastic, so I didn’t pay much attention to upcoming forecasts. Here I have two weather apps that I consult daily, sometimes two times a day just so I know what I’m in for. These apps vary in their accuracy, one is alternately more hopeful or more pessimistic than the other, but I keep it because it validates my hope for warmth.
I can feel the air change around me – a sudden drop in pressure and temperature makes me think it might snow. It hasn’t. A building of pressure and darkening of the sky? Storms. There is so much water here that I am never thirsty, but I still conserve like a good Californian would.
Being wet and cold is uncomfortable, but I feel alive. There is a scene in the movie My Dinner with Andre (loved that movie) where Andre talks about his distaste for electric blankets because he felt they insulated him from reality (paraphrasing). It was far better to get cold, realize it, and have to get up and get another blanket. Increased awareness, we should never be too comfortable.
Even though I am looking forward to spring, I am happy to have all this rain and cold. I know it is temporary, like everything is, and in the summer I’ll be lying on the tile floor, trying to keep cool.