( wishful thinking )

I could tell it was cold because Carrie was on the couch. Dane’s alarm was going to go off, I could tell, because through the one eye that was open, (looking out the small hole in the covers that I was breathing through) I could see that bit of light trying to come through my black curtains that was indicative of morning. Ugh.

In addition to the “Ugh, it’s morning,” when Carrie heard us moving around, she immediately trotted in from the living room and leaped onto the bed, snuggling into my legs, trying to warm up. My dog was even cold, and the day hadn’t even started yet. I despise winter. SO MUCH.

The sound of the shower always puts me back to sleep, and Dane’s pretty good about being quiet and not turning lights on so that I might possibly stay asleep a little past 7am. Carrie doesn’t even move to see him out the door. I get a little goodbye kiss and then happily wake up around 8am, after the furnace has kicked in and the world is right again. Not this morning. I hear “What? What the…no water?” and then hear Dane brushing his teeth in the kitchen. You have got to be kidding me. I’m moving to California. The pipes to my bathroom sink were unfortunate enough to have suffered the wrath of Nova Scotian winter and HAD FROZEN. INSIDE.

I bet pipes don’t freeze in Bermuda. I started counting the days. Figuring out which months had 30 days, which had 31, if this year was a leap year (it isn’t), and then did some fourth grade subtraction and addition to figure out how many more days until I was back where I really, really, really wanted to be right at that very minute. 136 days.  That didn’t make me feel much better.  19 weeks doesn’t sound really promising either. How about three months, give or take a few weeks. That was a span of time I was willing to compromise with.  So, 3 months, for the sake of saving some writing.  Ironically, as I’m trying to convince myself  that winter isn’t so bad, dreading brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink, just out of principle, my Bermudian beauty of a friend, Lindsay, sends me a picture of ski goggles over blackberry messenger. She wanted these ones when she came to visit. I shook my head at the idea that she’d want to come play in this frigid, white void of a province, when all I could think about was how absolutely non-refreshing the water in Bermuda was, it was that warm.

So, when I sat down at my computer with my space heater pointing directly at my feet, I and scanned through facebook, I saw some pictures of the ever lovely Christy, whose beautiful private island we spent a full day on during Cup Match, when it was miserable and raining, and ‘cold’…and how I’d trade all the snowmen and ski hills in Nova Scotia to be back there right now.

Here’s Christy:

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Neil - January 18, 2011 - 7:44 pm

Danique. We have a wood stove, and its 35 degrees C in the basement. I think it just called your name.

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