The land of the free and the freezing
What was that song again? The one from South Park? Oh yes, I remember – blame Canada.
No doubt when it was first aired in 1999 it caused some furor over the unfairness to our northern neighbor. I mean, Canadians are lovely people and didn’t deserve such derision.
Well, as they say, do I have gnus (sic) for them now.
I would like all 37.59 million of them to face south and draw in an enormous lungful of air and suck this sucky weather back where it belongs north of the border. You Alaskans and North Poleans can do the same please. All together now! Suck! And while we’re at it, would all the Mexicans please blow at the same time?
Good Lord I thought it was chilly when we left a week or so ago to go visit Boston Lil in Palm Desert. Five days out there we became, evidently, terribly spoiled with the temperatures in the high 70s. Even the chilly desert air at night – dropping to a dramatic 53 – was quite heavenly.
As I now write, it’s 5 below, with a tantalizing wind chill of minus 32. That’s a 110 degree temperature drop, people. Not good for the body or the soul.
And it’s snowing, and I have to get to the store, being as we are down to two eggs and three slices of bread which are looking a tad dodgy. I’d like to get to the chiropractor so he can crunch my body back into some semblance of order, it having been cramped into airplane seats. But it’s snowing, and it’s cold and I don’t wanna.
I need to go get my COVID shot – but in an oddly lucky quirk of fate, there are none to be had for us right now, so I suppose it’s a blessing in its own sick way.
I can’t imagine why, but my mind keeps flashing back to my annual three-week vacation on the beach back in Oz. Of days soaking up salt and sun and the gorgeously warm Pacific Ocean, fresh Queensland mangos and great big prawns – oh, segue: Did you know Aussies don’t call them shrimp? - but I digress.
Now, when I arrived on your fair shores back in 1999 and proudly worked and paid my way to become a U.S. citizen in 2005, I don’t recall the judge during the swearing-in part of the proceedings making me not only pledge my allegiance to this country and this flag and this constitution, but to this weather.
I didn’t sign up for Scot of the Antarctic temperatures, dear chaps.
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Our good buddy and eternal optimist, Herbie (after whom our small cat is named) called this morning to warn us to let our faucets drip to avoid frozen pipes – and to advise Sir that it would be 40 on Friday.
Perfect for golf, he said.
Humph. No I say, blame Canada – and Herbie with a bah humbug while we’re at it.
Stay warm, dear readers.
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at email@example.com.