My day, which started out with another reluctant trudge from a warm house into the cruel, unseasonably cold air, (well below freezing with a wind chill factor that makes me want to cry) has been brightened (and warmed) considerably by seeing my poem, "Photon," in the new issue of BluePrintReview, paired with a cool photo by a Norwegian artist. I love the way this journal thoughtfully marries words and images.
Speaking of "cool" and "Norwegian," I'm wondering what happened to the cold-toleration genes I apparently didn't inherit from my Norwegian/Swede grandmother and Swedish grandfather, who both spent their childhoods in places that would make the temperature outside here in Maryland seem like sweater weather. Well, maybe not. It's hard to imagine that. Cold is cold, to some extent, no matter where you're from. Maybe three wool sweaters layered on top of each other. But if it really is just "all what you're used to," then I'm definitely not used to this. Maybe in the middle of January, but not before it's even officially winter.
But at least it's an excuse to drink more fancy coffee in the morning and hot toddies in the evening. A friend sent me some hot cider packets in the mail last week and my man brought home a huge box of assorted holiday coffees the other day, and since both of those things go wonderfully with butterscotch schnapps, I am going to brave the cold for an extra five minutes after work tonight in order to purchase a bottle.