“You can only take so much off, but you can always put more on.” - Somebody, somewhere.I like the cold. I would rather a frost be in the air and on the ground than have the air sticking to me in the hot, humid Mississippi way it does. I am built for the cold, a furnace naturally heating me year round to the point where my resting temperature is around 99 rather than the standard 98.6.
I grew up in an old house with no central air. Our heater was a wood burning stove that sat in the living room. On really, really cold nights my parents and sister and I would pile in the living room with sleeping bags. The rest of the nights were spent under blankets and quilts handmade by aunts and grandmothers past. I like that kind of heat, that body warmth that comes from blankets and robes and sweaters and a warm fire on a cold night. The heat of being close to someone, even for a brief hug.
The Mississippi cold is different from other parts of the world. That humidity that makes the air unbearable on the blistering August dog day afternoons sticks around deep into the winter, only being pushed off when a storm blows in. The cold, wet air does not stick so much as it freezes you. Makes it hard to feel as it worms its way into you deep to the bone. That’s where blankets and robes and sweaters and all that other come to play. In the middle of the night, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, that humid ghost air has no way to haunt you.
But other things can haunt you. They can even knock on your door.