As a southern gal, I've never had a big dose of "winter." Sure, we still get those three months that we CALL winter, but it's not the same. I suppose the fact that I've never really had much winter in my life explains why I sometimes pine for a real winter--wool socks and all. I don't particularly like snow ('cause it's wet, and cold and wet make a bad combo) but I do love the cold air. Oh, but believe me, I've had plenty of people tell me that if I lived in Vermont, I'd be hating life. That's probably true. But a Charleston cold snap? That I think I can deal with. Call me a fan of "Winter Lite" or "Yankee Autumn" if you'd like, but it's still more than what a few folks around me can handle!
I appear to often be alone in my love for brisk air, especially in the southern region. My sister shivers if the mercury dips below 50. My ex-boss would always exclaim "We need BEACH weather!" if there was a slight nip in the air. Just about everyone I know would rather drink Pina Coladas beside a swimming pool year round, than experience four distinct seasons. So I decided to write this blog about my love for cooler weather. There are a number of things I appreciate about the season, including but not limited to: good hair days, oysters, creative fashion, cute socks, poignant novels, roaring fires, gooey marshmallows, beer you can't see through, and makeup that doesn't melt away.
But it's the mood of winter that I crave, even more so than the perks i just mentioned. Winter has always seemed like a reflective time; it's a time for writing, for planning and for figuring out the coming year. Spring is so progressive and action-packed, I need these weeks to daydream and ponder.