It looks the same, the sky, the ground, the trees, ok not really the trees, but it looks the same from inside the glass. But then I was outside. And it was different. It was cold.
Now the problem is that it really wasn’t cold. It was forty-eight degrees. Forty eight degrees in the Midwest in the Spring means that you wear shorts, irrationally but in celebration of the end of the sh*t that is Winter. And yes I capitalize the seasons because they are significant.
I have become a California wuss. I pulled my hands into my sleeves when I should be throwing a football around. The orange beauty of the Fall leaves meant nothing because I hurried my gait and couldn’t appreciate them. My blood has thinned, as I was warned. Or maybe my skin is thinner, I am certainly no longer thick-skinned. All I know is that it’s embarrassing to my former self who is snarling at me from some other time-space where the wind chill is twenty degrees below zero and it really is cold.
Here’s the thing, I didn’t think about it. I knew on the flight from Los Angeles to Chicago the temperature would drop. I was prepared with a sweater for the car ride. But that’s it. I didn’t go outside. I went from the airport to the car to the house. Until the next day. When I wanted to go for a run. That’s when it hit.
The pretty day from inside the glass was so deceptive that I almost wanted to don shorts and a t-shirt. That’s what I usually wear. That’s what I wore two days ago when I was a spoiled brat Southern Californian. That’s what I’ll wear when I go back.
Here’s my fear. That I won’t toughen up in two weeks. That I’ll go back and take it for granted that it’s eighty degrees and sunny in November. That I’ll complain when it drops to sixty and I need a sweatshirt at night. That I’m actually going to turn into one of them that thinks there are seasons in Los Angeles. That I’ll believe that the occasional sprinkling is actually rain. And that when it does truly drop to the forties in the middle of the night I’ll believe that it’s Winter. It’s not. It’s winter.
Nope, won’t let it happen. I can handle this, I spent over forty years living through it. It’s only dropping to thirty-five tonight, where’d I put those electric socks?