TO YOU FROZEN HIPPIES

My friend in L.A. texts me to tell me that it's windy, chilly, and about 45 degrees out there in beautiful Southern California.  He mentions he might need a sweater.  (He's a Northeast transplant.)  I text back that it's mild, sunny, and 50 degrees out here; no sweaters necessary.

This weather, of course, is on the heels of freezing rain with a semi-hairy morning commute followed by a treacherous walk in from the parking lot at work.  I make it all the way to the door, open it, go to step inside ... then slip.  I almost go down, and I'm sure the hallway camera that is pointed at the back entry will be great fodder later when the tech crew watches the staff do the cartoon-character shuffle.

Considering that a teacher did actually fall in the lot last week after a snowstorm, I shouldn't make light of it.  Black ice is damn dangerous, and one of my students injures her knee getting off the bus this morning when she steps onto a patch of the slippery, nearly invisible stuff.

But, that was then, and this is now.  Then, it was icy, slippery, and just starting to melt as the temperature edged over 32 degrees.  Now, it smells like spring and sounds like spring: the birds are singing from the trees.  People are outside and walking around, stalling on sidewalks to converse in relaxed stances.

Yup, winter (well, almost ... we are still hours away) in New England seems to beat out Los Angeles.  Their sweater weather is our pre-beach weather. 50 degrees to Southern Cali is cause to batten the hatches; 50 degrees in New England is cause to kick off the shoes and brave hypothermia by putting our toes in the ocean water.

I'm sorry you're all shivering a little out west, but we're loving it here, at least for a few more hours.  As soon as winter officially hits, there'd better be snow and all the wonderful mayhem that comes with it.  We'll pack up these glory days and send 'em back west to you frozen hippies.