September was warm and so was October; November flirted with snow and the next week it was pushing 65 degrees. But now, oh now, we have fallen – not eased down a slope – but fallen off the cliff of temperature doom.

Technically, the temperature is above zero, but the windchill is -8 . . . AND IT IS NOT GOING TO VARY FROM THIS PATH FOR DAYS. Sorry, if I got excited there, but I knew this would happen; I knew I would just keep thinking, Tomorrow, I will round up mittens and scarfs (for warmth, not fashion) and parkas and ice scrapers and, and, and all the etcetera’s you can think of. But I also KNEW that I would one day be leaning against a door and, as is my habit, regret not being prudent, before dashing out to be lashed by wind-driven snow. Am I getting too dramatic? I think so.

Okay, I do know where my mittens are and I’m fairly certain my LL Bean coat is in the basement where I tossed it after bringing in firewood on that wannabe snowy November day. However, the hood is not zipped on. I see my Emu boots sitting in the corner, but my heavy duty boots are under something somewhere.

AND IT IS -8 WINDCHILL.

It could be worse for me; I am not the one with the severely impacted wisdom tooth who has an appointment tomorrow afternoon. Nor am I the one needing a root canal in early January. That would be Cameron. My prayer is for no dry socket adventure. I would advise him not to open his mouth while outside.

I am considering rolling myself up in bubble wrap like a mummy before going out; unfortunately, I am addicted to popping those little air bubbles. Maybe I won’t be able to do it in mittens.