It’s the kind of cold where you have to wear a down jacket and gloves to the office,
and a mad bomber hat to bed.
It’s the kind of cold where the pets decide, “Screw you, I will NOT go out there.
I’m going to pee on the floor”.
It’s the kind of cold where you dry your hair in front of the wood stove
because you have frost on the bathroom outlet.
It’s the kind of cold where you seriously consider burning your rocking chair for more heat.
You wonder how Laura Ingalls Wilder did it.
You wonder how we got so damn soft over the years.
You wonder whose brilliant idea it was to work and live in an 1880 historic brick building that has no insulation and a negative R value.
Then you remember…right, that was me.
You remind yourself that the ice patterns on the cracked single pane glass windows really are beautiful.
And that living in these Northern climes gives us bragging rights.
Bragging about what, I’m not really sure.
But when the thermometer reads FORTY DEGREES BELOW zero,
we are reminded that we are not in control.
It allows us to feel a little danger in our lives.
And somehow, when the temps rise again, and they will…
…we will feel just a little bit stronger.