Baby, it’s cold outside! I really hate the cold. You’d have thought that a Chicago native who is of Russian and Polish descent would be made for cold or at least used to it by now. Nope. Hate it. I’m always cold excepting in the high heats of summer. My hands are cold. My feet are cold. My nose is cold. You get the picture.
It used to be that at night I could look forward to spooning up to my heat emanating, hot-blooded partner and together we would find a happy temperature between us. Now when I dive under the covers, she forbids me from touching her bare skin with my ice cold extremities. I’m that cold. I tell her that her heart is as cold as my hands, but she ignores me. I think the key to a good marriage is the ability to ignore your partner.
This house is cold. Gabriella and I each sold an internal organ so we could afford to replace every single one of our 33 windows in this house. Still cold. We had the chimney and the damper and whateverthehell else you’re supposed to fix related to the fireplace so that heat would not escape. Still cold. On sunny days, it’s warmer outside than it is inside. Do you know what it costs to heat this charming, old home for two women? Is it wrong to look forward to the hot flashes of menopause? There is no man walking around our house lowering the temperature on the thermostat. The heating bill last year was high enough to make our blood boil, and now we’re turning down the heat, layering and saving our pennies for underfloor heating . mmmmmmm underfloor heating. How’s that for product placement? Yeah, I can be bought-cheap!
I know. It’s only going to get colder. I don’t even want to talk about snow. Can you believe I’m whinging and it’s still in the 60s? (whinging-not a typo, thank you very much) Why, that’s probably a balmy summer’s day in Palin country where the temperature is usually so low that everyone’s brain has frozen. That’s the only way I can account for the severe retardation of brain cells up there in Alaska.
When we moved to London, I thought we were going to be so grateful to escape the cold of Chicago. I wouldn’t miss winters that lasted until April. Nostrils sticking together every time I breathed in through my nose. Ignoring all semblances of fashion – dressing purely for warmth. Dry, cracked skin and static that literally made my hair stand on end. Then we moved to London. “Welcome to London!” said the cab driver as we piled our 7 suitcases into the car. “Do you know what the difference is between summer and winter in London? No? In the summer, the rain is warm!” We were too jetlagged to absorb or care about what he said. He was the oracle, and we were the oraclees. Oraclees? It’s Greek.
It rained and rained and rained. And when it wasn’t raining, it looked like it was going to rain. Or it was misty. Sometimes, it was sunny, but it was never bright. There were always clouds interrupting sunny days and occasional rain showers throughout the summer. We were there for 7 years, and I recall 2 warm summers. The winters were never as severe as they were in Chicago. There was hardly any snow at all. But the damp got right into your bones. And it was never bright. I remember coming back to the States to visit and deplaning into a bright, sunny day. I had to cover my eyes and squint my way into the airport like some sort of vampire because I was so unaccustomed to light. True story. Grey and gloomy was the weather and often the population of London. I will gladly endure each and every winter on this side of the pond because the sun abounds and the summers are glorious. I do not miss London weather.
I do not miss London weather, lime scale forming on every freaking surface in the bathroom and kitchen, self-hating Jews, pathetic Gay Pride Parades, bad dental care-it’s true what they say, British people.
I do miss self-deprecating & politically incorrect humour, life completely void of mosquitoes and Christian fundamentalists (blood suckers & mother fuckers respectively), socialized medicine, midwifery, liquid lunches, British people.
I do miss the mums who kept me sane during the first year of motherhood. I miss the sweet playground set in Highgate Woods. I miss our friends. I miss the songs we used to sing at playgroups that will always remind me of my first year with our first child. I’ve attached a video of one song from Asher’s toddler days that Asher and I decided to teach Levi. APPRECIATE PLEASE (see previous post reference): Sleeping Bunnies.
Big, wet juicy kisses to all of our peeps in Blighty! We miss you, and we may be back sooner than planned if the election goes tits up!!