Thin Blood

I often joke with The Rev. that we could never move to a northern climate because I have thin, Southern blood and I would freeze abnormally faster than a regular human. Given that my hands and feet are perpetually at sub-zero temperatures, The Rev. has taken to thinking that we could live at the equator and I would still be cold. This is probably true.

When we moved to SoCal, I came completely and totally ignorant of what the climate would be like. I blame my public school education, which glossed over the Spanish exploration of the West, the Mexican-American War and the gold rush of 1849 to get to the important stuff, like the War of Northern Aggression. You may know it as the Civil War. California was dim, far away land, and I came expecting normal seasons and conquistadors.

Our first Christmas was spent on our patio, barefoot and in short sleeves, chuckling over the unfortunate relatives east of the Mississippi who were in the throes of an ice storm. It took me some getting used to, this habit of never putting away your summer whites, and pairing flip-flops with a scarf and a jacket. I still hold off on the white pants until after Easter, but I have heartily embraced the flip-flops.

Now we are in some weird weather funk, and it is cold and rainy. Very unseasonal, and I miss the balmy days of 74 degrees and sunny--all year round. My thin blood is cranky, and I am torn. I like my San Diego weather. I like the sunshine. I have grown accustomed to paying an obscene amount of money for a house. I have grown accustomed to being served unsweetened tea at restaurants. I have grown accustomed to suppressing the urge to kick people who ask me if I am from "back east." I have grown accustomed to all these things, but do not cruelly take away the one perk of living here, because heaven knows we just lost the perk of paying $1 for 6 pounds of navel oranges.