This popped up on my weather forecast for yesterday:
It is definitely cold (for the moment). 30 something degrees at night, only in he 50s during the day–I had to bring out my fingered gloves, handkerchief for my face, fleece headband for under my helmet, and winterish jacket for the ride into work this morning. My hair didn’t freeze (that happens in January), but it was rather nippy. In a good way. I know I’ll tire of the chill, but it felt damn right today.
So, naturally, I came home and made biscuits. Reading Southern Literature and sitting in a wind filled house (our insulation is non-existent in this old place) made me crave good old comfort food carbohydrates. I also made an apple pie. Er, galette. And ate the entire thing with a good friend while watching art house films and roasting our toes in front of a fire. It’s fire season (indoors!).
There’s something about the cold that makes me crave comfort–I think we all do. Bundling up shows me how vulnerable I am, that I can’t control my body to a certain extent. A scarf is like a crutch. It helps me along, warms my neck, guards my heart from the extremes, and is something I have to add to my body to function. Without warm clothes, the cold would eradicate me.
True, it’s not cold enough yet to be “eradicated” by the weather, but a warm biscuit and soup or a slice of apple galette soothes me into submission to greater forces. And the weather service will always be around to give me a laugh or two before I head out in to the chill.