Monday, March 4, 2013

Corner of Sunshine

We live in Florida- the land of eternal sunshine, as it were. People move here specifically for that reason, though, I confess: I miss the change of weather and the cold. This is  not a topic you speak of amongst true Floridians- when the thermometer reaches 50 degrees, people are scrambling for parkas and wool-lined this and that. True Floridians think you are crazy for wanting to go anywhere other than the Eternal Sunshine of the Sand-Filled Mind.

But me, I miss seasons. I miss cold weather and bundling up and the bedamned Sisyphean snowsuit;  because "I don't have to pee!" turns into "Mom...? I kinda hafta...".

That said, we're in the middle of a cold snap here in Florida. (Yes, I consider 40 degrees cold, and so do you. Stop being such a showoff.) Apparently, when constructing this house a century ago, no one had the foresight to think of modern inventions--like sub-flooring or double-paned windows.

My office sits in one of the rooms we've been meaning to renovate, but haven't gotten around to. All to say, it's drafty and cluttered and wonderful. Every wall, save one , is filled with single-paned windows that let the sunshine and the drafts pour in, in equal measure. I have my sweater on, a cup of steaming hot tea on the desk, and a beautiful vista of ridiculously dressed neighbors walking by to entertain me. I swear, one woman just walked by with fur lining around her head, and her dog(!) had on a full jacket.  

In the summer, I have to close the curtains, place the air conditioning on 70 and pray I don't die of heatstroke while working. It gets lonely working in here in the summer. My view of the neighborhood gets obscured in favor of not risking death via sun-stroke.

But the winter, what we have of it down here, I get to enjoy the awesomeness of sunshine that doesn't blind and isn't suffocatingly humid, all from my little corner of the house. My escape that I've taken over, like kudzu over a building; slowly, almost imperceptibly, but always moving forward towards my goal of a sanctuary I could call my own.

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