Cold in Yer Bones

I’m a wimp. I can’t tell you how much I feel the cold now that I’m an old man. It wasn’t so long ago that I would get up, wash my long hair (this is high school considering no one I know really knew me in high school) and walk to the bus stop and head off to school. My hair would freeze on my head it was that wet. I was pretty crazy, but I didn’t feel the cold. Not at all.

Now things are a little different. I’m not really complaining, I just figure out new ways of dressing for the cold, specifically my extremities. Dan knit these amazing felted mittens which I don’t think I’ll ever be without now. But my dear feet aren’t used to the cold. I’ve been pampered my whole life never having to chop my source of fuel or pay for it in any real way. Now my toes get so painful if they aren’t covered in several layers of wool.

It’s humbling but then I should be humbled. I’m a tiny insect compared to the mighty redwood that is the world. And it makes me think that if I was a real animal that I would probably be just about wrapping up my life around this age. I’d have already had kids and seen them grow and all that would be left would be to return to the earth to feed my children and their children and their children.

But I happen to be civilized so I’m likely to hang on for a few more years now.