Cold rain

The edges of my fingernails turn lavender and blue. Transitioning from cool weather to the heat of summer? No problem. Transitioning from moderate fall to winter? My internal thermostat protests.

In the winter there are just as many things to do as in summer, but it's harder to actually do them. The chill slows everything down. Molasses in January. Wanting to stay under the covers in the morning. Snow or cold rain outside to slog through during chores. It's even harder if there's a warmest place in the house situation. The living room with the big fire going is tidy and welcoming, while the cold office in the downstairs on the north side of the house gets worse and worse and worse.

So the pile begins, and by spring, that first flush of warmth inspires a rush of all that accumulated work. The dark corners get flushed with light, dusting and scrubbing. Garbage gets hauled out. Until then, there's the dreary build up like dirt on a car's dashboard. Unless it drives you crazy (har har) it just keeps getting thicker and thicker, and you try not to put your hand on it because once you leave fingerprints, it starts talking to you telepathically. Clean me, Kami! Look, there's a clean spot the size of your hand. Just wipe it off. Five seconds.

Inevitably those little voices grow into a chorus in wintertime. I huddle inside my clothes and pointedly ignore them until the sun can loosen my frozen joints.

Some things can't be neglected, though. Out we go into the cold rain, and when we return, hot chocolate.