It's cold outside. The last time I checked Weather.com, it said the temp was 11 degrees and with the wind chill it was -4. I would check our thermometer, but it got so cold it came into the house to warm up. Now I like to think I'm relatively tolerant of the cold, especially for a transplant from Southern California, but even I think this is a bit much. It looks like our Doberman, Kisha, will be spending the day on the couch because I'm not taking her out in this for both of our sakes. She doesn't seem to bothered by this, but I'm sure if I have a moment of insanity, she will gladly get off of the couch and venture around the block.
Though I'm very happy living here, I wonder how people decided to setting in such a relatively formidable place, especially before the modern comforts of natural gas heating, cable television, and pizza delivery. I know it's beautiful the other three seasons, but somehow I feel those all get crammed into six months. But maybe the fall is worth it (it's my favorite season). Maybe I shouldn't think about it in temporal terms. Maybe my experiencing of fall is worth the cold months that follow. Maybe the excitement of spring is worth it (despite relapses into winter). Maybe sitting on our back deck late into a warm night in July makes it worth it. But right now, I'm just wondering when our temperature gauge will register in the positive and go back outside.