When I was a kid, growing up in upstate New York, my dad had rules for me on how to dress for chilly days.
Under forty degrees, I had to wear gloves.
Below freezing, I had to wear gloves and a hat.
By the time I was a teenager though, I managed a bit of rebelliousness and left for school with hair still wet from the shower, hair that was frozen solid by the time I got to school.
Yesterday, here in Florida, it would have a been a gloves day, minimum, but purely on principle I have refused to buy gloves or an umbrella since I have lived in Florida.
I refuse to acknowledge that cold and/or rainy days exist in the Sunshine State.
The best way to survive a cold day in Florida?
Don't go outside.
Stay indoors under a quilt and several cats.
But yesterday was Sunday and I was determined to go to church first thing in the morning, cold or not. The sky was cloudless. It was a sky I recognized from childhood, the blue, chilled sky of Canada, far more prevalent in New York than Florida, but recognizable all the same.
As I stood in the sanctuary and stared out the floor to ceiling windows, I watched the mist rolling along the water of the retention pond, ebbing and flowing as if the water itself were inhaling and exhaling.
Everything was cold, but somehow under that great blue sky, new and fresh and clean.
It was Epiphany Sunday, the Sunday we restate our baptismal vows, the Sunday that celebrates the baptism of Jesus by John.
It was also our first Sunday with new carpet in the sanctuary. Some would argue that the new carpet didn't look all that different from the old, but I could see the difference and, more importantly, smell the difference.
I love new carpet smell almost as much as new car smell.
Although the smell of enough new carpet to fill a sanctuary was a little much, and I spent most of the service in the carpet-free library.
Afterwords, I drove to the Wetlands and with the heat turned up high, I rolled down the window and watched the few birds that were braving the windchill.
Birds, like humans, know the best way to survive the cold. If you're alone, hunker down in the nest, barricade yourself in. But if you're with friends, stick together.
That's how I plan to spend most of my day today, hunkered down, wrapped up, and with a couple of warm cats draped over me.
Under forty degrees, I had to wear gloves.
Below freezing, I had to wear gloves and a hat.
By the time I was a teenager though, I managed a bit of rebelliousness and left for school with hair still wet from the shower, hair that was frozen solid by the time I got to school.
Yesterday, here in Florida, it would have a been a gloves day, minimum, but purely on principle I have refused to buy gloves or an umbrella since I have lived in Florida.
I refuse to acknowledge that cold and/or rainy days exist in the Sunshine State.
The best way to survive a cold day in Florida?
Don't go outside.
Stay indoors under a quilt and several cats.
But yesterday was Sunday and I was determined to go to church first thing in the morning, cold or not. The sky was cloudless. It was a sky I recognized from childhood, the blue, chilled sky of Canada, far more prevalent in New York than Florida, but recognizable all the same.
As I stood in the sanctuary and stared out the floor to ceiling windows, I watched the mist rolling along the water of the retention pond, ebbing and flowing as if the water itself were inhaling and exhaling.
Everything was cold, but somehow under that great blue sky, new and fresh and clean.
It was Epiphany Sunday, the Sunday we restate our baptismal vows, the Sunday that celebrates the baptism of Jesus by John.
It was also our first Sunday with new carpet in the sanctuary. Some would argue that the new carpet didn't look all that different from the old, but I could see the difference and, more importantly, smell the difference.
I love new carpet smell almost as much as new car smell.
Although the smell of enough new carpet to fill a sanctuary was a little much, and I spent most of the service in the carpet-free library.
Afterwords, I drove to the Wetlands and with the heat turned up high, I rolled down the window and watched the few birds that were braving the windchill.
Birds, like humans, know the best way to survive the cold. If you're alone, hunker down in the nest, barricade yourself in. But if you're with friends, stick together.
That's how I plan to spend most of my day today, hunkered down, wrapped up, and with a couple of warm cats draped over me.
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