Cold Comfort

I must be perfectly honest. I have to admit that growing up and all the way through to the time that I left my home in Southern California, I could not imagine why anyone would want to live anywhere else. Statistically many others seem to agree with me. While California is the third largest state in this crazy country, it it by far the most populated (although, admittedly, it is not the most densely populated). Where I grew up, the climate is lovely most of the time, it is close to the mountains, close to the beach, close to the high desert. We had Disneyland, Knot's Berry Farm, and Magic Mountain, incredible shopping, great art, the music was incredible, etc etc etc.

Ok, ok, I know there are earthquakes but, to be quite honest, the bulk of us are not too fussed about it. You’ve gone through enough of them and you grow accustomed to the idea.

Really it was more about the weather than anything else. Warm weather went from about April to October. Some of the warmest days I remember were a few thanksgivings when all we’re wearing shorts and tshirts in the pictures. Even the cold months were not all that cold.

This morning, here in Portland, is is 33°F (so 5° C) and the roads are lined with magical, icy sparkles that beckon to me as I drive. I’m here with my sleeping soldiers and it is cold cold cold. Mt. Hood is, once again, completely buried deep in its white shroud. The trees that choose to sleep through the cold months are well on their way to deep slumber. There is a huge murder of crows surrounding my car, picking at the puddles and hunting for food in the frozen grass. 

I finally get it. The unique and ever changing beauty of “real” seasons are calling out to a deeper part of my being, urging reflection, waiting to surprise me with something new. I love it. 

Speaking of something new…….

Meet Hazel. Our new little bundle of love wrapped in fur.