There was a pop song ages ago about it being “too darn hot,” and of course, the double entendre was clear. I guess we could apply different meanings to cold, but mostly, at least as I intend it, my reference is to the outdoor temperature exclusively. We laugh and say, it’s Vermont, what do you expect? And for those of you sporty types, skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, the cold is welcome, preserving the snow.
When I’ve been outside–shoveling paths, bringing in wood from our double stack, I come inside, get something hot to drink, kick back and dream of warm places, imagining myself transported to southern California, Puerto Rico, Key West. That imaginary respite works wonders. Do I want to live in any of those places? Noooooo. Even traveling to one of them for a vacation holds but slight appeal–airports, airplanes, the nonluxury hotel that would “make sense.”
Isn’t the imagination a wonderful thing? It allows travel, it allows fantasies of writing the Great American Novel, of magically becoming a ballerina or an accomplished watercolorist. And once an imaginative excursion has been enjoyed, we return to our normal pursuits, indoors or out, and can feel a bit renewed.