Every fall-turning-into-winter, the cold hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m not kidding, this happens every year. I’ll be in my element when spring comes, shedding layers and waiting for the day that I can first venture outside with a skirt and bare legs. I take off my coat way before the rest of the population does, enjoying the sun on my skin, and I don’t put it back on till fall hits. And even then the fact that it’s getting colder doesn’t really register. I’ll be walking around, enjoying the fall sun and crisp air, and before you know it I’m shivering in my light summer jacket because it’s gotten cold and NO ONE HAS TOLD ME.
I blame this on my Californian childhood years, although I don’t know if that’s fair because I’ve been living in the Netherlands for almost 15 years by now. You’d think that I would have learned to be wary of November. But nope, I’m not. The only reason I had gloves the other day was because they were still in the pockets of my winter coat from last year. (That should also tell you how much of a homemaker I am. Please don’t judge me.)
Putting on a pair of leggings because it’s too cold for bare legs is bad enough, but the moment that those leggings turn into tights and boots? That chills my soul to the bone. That’s also the moment that I send my dad an email asking him why we live here, again. He always answers that he’s not sure either, but we do. He also tells me to grab my passport and meet him at the airport, that it’s time we booked a flight to California. And I have to say, it does sound very tempting…
Perhaps someday I’ll be all put together and actually be prepared for the seasons as they hit. But I’m pretty sure that day is a long day away, if this summer was any indication. It rained and rained and rained this summer – it rained so much I didn’t mind spending the whole summer at the office, it wasn’t much to look at anyway. Yet every day I’d forget to take a jacket and get drenched on the way home.
Yup, that’s me. At least I’m used to being cold by now.