3 Should Be Par for the 9th Hole, Not a Temperature

It’s currently 3 big degrees outside, and it hasn’t been much warmer than that all day, as evidenced by my teeth, which keep clanking together in the Cold Chatter Dance.

It’s been a long, cold winter today, and I am absolutely ready for the spring thaw.

I am not a fan of the coldness. Hence, I am not a fan of the skiing and the snowmachining and the outdoor ice hockey. Mama does best with warmer temperatures.

Besides that, I’m horrible at skiing. Just ask my sister and my friend, Thomas. My sister and Tom once talked me into believing that a black diamond run was not much different from the bunny slope, and I didn’t believe it for a second. Not in the beginning. But they kept going on and on about how it was just a nice gentle ride down the mountain, and how I’d advanced enough at my snow plowing technique to successfully navigate the black diamond, and I kept asking, “Aren’t you lying?” And they kept shaking their heads, insisting that, “No. No, ma’am, they weren’t lying.” So I trusted them, and I boarded the ski lift.

Suffice it to say that they were definitely lying. Badly. And they appeared very pleased with themselves. It’s a good thing they’re saved by grace, and not by their works! When I got off the ski lift, my skis were perfectly perpendicular to the down slope, and the fear-induced adrenaline that shot through my body could have powered a microwave oven indefinitely. Yes, I made it to the bottom, minus one ski (which arrived at the lodge hours before I did, and was actually turned into Lost and Found), and I’d said horrible things about my sister and Tom the entire way down.

I’ve never been skiing since that day.

But that’s a rabbit trail, because I was telling y’all how cold it is here tonight.

And cold reminded me of skiing. And skiing reminded me of hate it. (Clearly, I am a smashing success at The Sleepy Game, thank you very much Gracie.)

In fact, we have some retired couples who attend church with us who have just recently skipped town and headed to Arizona. Hubs and I were visiting with a couple of them the other day, and they told us all about the condo in the gated community that they bought outside of Phoenix, and how this little community is filled with couples their age who are just! so! much! fun! And Mr. C told us that there isn’t a night that goes by down there in the winter, when someone isn’t throwing a little get together, with either dinner, or appetizers, or card games, or wine tastings, and he and Mrs. C simply walk all over the little community, attending one fun-filled function after another.

I have decided to take early retirement.

And move to Phoenix.

And rent Mr. and Mrs. C’s extra bedroom for the winter.

The entire winter.

And go to the nightly festivals involving appetizers and cards and wine.

Because Mr. C told us last week, as he was getting ready to leave for balmy Arizona, that he’d be on the golf course this week, and that Mrs. C would be enjoying the pool.

And you can’t do either of those things when it’s 3 degrees outside.

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