I was never good with winter. New England born and bred, but I used to describe myself as cold-blooded. I’d like nothing better than to curl up on a rock in the sun for a nap. In winter, I’d go into hibernation. But I was raised in a house built by my great-grandfather. I thought I was fated to spend my life there.
I moved to LA in a September. All that fall, I was going on job interviews and people would ask how I liked LA. “I’m planning on making my career here,” I’d say, “so I need to stay at least 10-15 years and then we’ll see what happens.” Then I went home for Christmas and New Year’s. I came back saying, “what was I thinking?!? I couldn’t take two weeks of that ‘winter’ crap – 7 months a year? No, never again!”
I flew back on New Year’s Eve, before the storms hit. The TSA agent looked at my ID and said, “Going home?” I said, “From home, to home. You know how it is.” She said, “You’re going to miss the snow.” I said, “That’s… debatable.”
My mother posted a photo on my Facebook wall of her outdoor thermometer reading 0° and a comment, “Aren’t you sad you’re missing this?” I posted a photo of my outdoor thermometer reading 80° and replied, “I’m crying in my pool, I’ll tell ya’.”
Good luck to everyone digging out and stay warm!