It’s a rare cold morning in Houston. Actually, it’s not really all that cold, probably above normal for November in most places around the country. But we can see our breath this morning. People can wear rare sweaters. Everyone talks about the cold. The mind notces difference and today the weather’s different.
Me, I’m in shirtsleeves, riding to work with the car windows rolled down, lovin’ it, soakin’ it up.
People look at me in this weather in my tshirt and shorts and ask me, incredulously, “Aren’t you cold?” Of course I’m cold, you ninny. That’s what I want. Almost year round in Houston being cold is rare or at least pretty expensive. I’m enjoying all the free cold. Open the windows, please.
I hate indoor heating. There’s something stultifying, smothering about a blast of warm air, especially after just coming in from the delicious cold. And disappointing too. All that free cold and somebody’s paying extra to dispel it. Goes against my nature.
Elderly people in North Dakota struggling to pay their heating bills are reading this and sending me Karma Daggers right now, I know.
I live with young children and two elderly people, so I’m sure the house will be heated when I get home today. Sigh.
I’ll go into my little prayer corner, close the door, open the window, and give thanks to God for the glorious absence of Houston Heat in the air.