My Cold Weather Manifesto

Summers were murder; two-a-days doubly so. Growing up in the sweltering Texas heat taught me two things: the sun is evil and don't go outside until December. Unfortunately, my parents had this pesky idea that children should do something besides read and play video games indoors all the time, so sometimes there was no avoiding the sun.

In college, something compelled me to pick up yarn and start hooking. Now, in my part of Texas, where the temperature usually only drops below 40 degrees a few days a year, knitting and crocheting might seem like a poor choice of hobbies. Given my growing knowledge of fibers, cotton would have been about the only thing worth using. My recollection is that my early efforts sat squarely in the "acrylic" territory, but memories are imperfect.

The fiber artist in me died after graduation and it wasn't until my move to New England five years later that yarn found me again. My yarn story is for another time, but suffice it to say it plays a large role in the following realization: I am a cold weather girl.

Texas is a wonderful place, and homesickness still tugs at me on a disturbingly frequent basis, but it will likely never be my home again. And that's okay, because it's not cold enough there anyway.

From blmiers on Flickr.

My first "real" winter taught me so many things -- put your windshield wipers up the night before a snow; always keep your shovel and scraper in the car, not the trunk; don't pass the plow truck, even on the left; don't use the rear defroster until the car warms up and not all windshield wiper fluid is created equal.

So now, as my third New England winter quickly approaches, there are two main thoughts in my mind, which are in direct opposition to that which my upbringing taught me: the sun brings great joy and don't go outside from December to March.

I love you, winter. I love being cold and I love making warm things to wear during your months. May it never be 90-degrees-in-the-shade again.