Winter has a firm grasp on the Great Plains where I live. For weeks we have been locked in a death grip of single digit temperatures. Yesterday school was even called off because of it. As I sit in my fleece pants and sweatshirt I type this with cold fingers as I do not wish to push the heat up too far. My granddaughter is curled up in the other room with a form of the flu that has lasted for days. She is watching “My Little Pony” on Netflix and staying bundled up. Even the dogs go outside and do their business and then come right back in. I had to fill up the car with gas yesterday without my gloves and thought I was going to lose my fingers. They still tingle. This kind of cold is brutal. It’s funny. No matter how bad the weather is it seems there is always someone out there jogging. I’m all for dedication but this borders on insanity. The logic there escapes me. And why does the cold air always have to be blamed on Canada? We are in an “Alberta Clipper” and the weatherman always refers to “cold air coming down from Canada.” Why can’t they just say “cold air coming down from the north.” After all, in the summer time the weather man doesn’t say “hot air moving up from Mexico.” They say, “Warm air moving up from the south.” It must be more politically correct to blame Canada. The fact is, neither country is to blame. Weather is weather and there’s nothing we can do about it. So I sit with blue skies taunting me with the promise of warn temperatures when the air brings anything but. If history has taught me anything it is that the weather will change and this icy grip will release.
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