It's a Bit Chilly

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who are warm, and me.

 As I write this entry I realize I won’t have anyone commenting that they feel the same way.  I know I’m alone.  If I weren’t alone so many things would be different.  Global warming would be considered a godsend.  No one would live north of Texas.  And surely someone would have invented something to keep us warm that is a little more hi-tech than thermal underwear.  

Since I am alone, allow me to tell you what my life is like.  

I love to take walks.  I have to wear ear muffs until its summer.  Yes, people look at me funny.  This is probably one reason my teenager won’t come with me.

Restaurants and movie theaters are torture chambers.  I have to take a coat with me year-round.  In upscale restaurants I have resorted to warming my hands by the candle on the table.  

Somewhere, in some committee, it was decided that 70 degrees is “room temperature”.  They made it a fact by creating heaters and air conditioners that keep buildings at this magical temperature year round.  If I had been on that committee, I would have fought for at least 75.  Maybe closer to 80.  

I always look for a sunny spot.  Like lizards and turtles, I love sitting in the sun.  My front porch faces west, so in the afternoon I love to sit on my porch swing and read.  The sun is on my face and the bricks behind me give off a radiant heat.  Love it.

When I park my car I don’t look for the closest spot to the building.  I look for the sunniest spot.  I love that baking feeling you get when you climb in a car that has been sitting in the sun.  The wonderful heat seeps into me and I lean my back against the warm upholstery and smile.  

I remember being hot.  Once.  No, of course I do get hot in the summer.  It’s just that I tolerate the sensation of being hot better than that of being cold.  The slightest breeze can cool me off on a hot day, but it is very hard for me to get warm once I’m cold.  Added to that is the fact that Utah has two seasons - winter and damn late in the fall.  No, it has summer, but since I don’t consider it warm until it’s 80 degrees, that means only July and August are consistently warm.

My husband recites the poem The Cremation of Sam McGee to me every so often.  He’s such a romantic.  But I think he’s on to something.  Sam and I, we just want to be warm.