It has been darn cold these past few weeks. For some reason, my days of skiing on New Hampshire mountaintops in five-degree weather are behind me. My excuse could be that my body has aged a little and can no longer lithely ski down the mountain, but the truth is I never was graceful, making my way down the mountains “snowplow style” with the tips of my skis turned in and ground into the snow to be able to have the most control, (that is, control the speed to that of a snail.) Hubby would be up and down the mountain five times by the time I finished one run. That was fine with me…the ride on the chair lift was extremely chilling, freezing my fingers and toes until I couldn’t feel them. However, nothing can compare to the sight when standing at the top of the mountain on a sunny day. The snow on the slopes sparkled and gleamed, mountains far away sport snowcaps of their own, valleys of frozen rivers, green firs peaking out from their snow laden branches, and the ant like movement of the tiny cars driving on the mountain roads glistened through a haze of snow mist.

Skiing is no longer in my repertoire of skills because of my aging hatred of freezing weather. This didn’t stop me from taking on a new adventure in the cold; my bundled body took the MBTA commuter rail to Boston the other day to join my son’s family at the Boston Children’s Museum. Wearing an old but comfy “fake fur” coat, under which two pairs of pants, two shirts, a sweater and three pairs of socks clung to my shivering body. My hands were adorned with a pair of knit gloves over which a pair of waterproof ski gloves was pulled on to secure warmth. A hat and a warm scarf covered my head, with the ability to pull down the furry hood all the way to my chin if the need be. Despite the seven-degree weather, the 30-second trip from the car to the train was eventless, and I tore off the extraneous items (hats, gloves, scarf) for the hour and a half train ride to be able to sit comfortably and enjoy playing games on my phone.

Prior to arriving at the station, my warm items were methodically put back on, and were most appreciated as I left the train. Even though the Children’s Museum is only a few blocks from South Station, my bundled body found its way to a waiting taxi driver, who grumbled a little when he learned my destination was not going to earn him a lot of money.

After an active day playing with bubbles and trains and puzzles, I again bundled up, said good-bye to my son and his family, and decided to bravely make my way back to the train station without the extravagance of a taxi. It was an educated guess based on the fact that my 30-second walk to the taxi from the train wasn’t too bad; the walk back to the station should be okay. Big mistake! Getting to a taxi outside of a building is a lot different atmosphere than walking blocks between buildings with hurricane force winds swooping down, throwing both flecks and lumps of snow upon me. I tried to tippy-toe run, but the wind was holding me back and my insides were screaming from the severe pain of the cold. By the time I reached the warmth of the station, tears were running down my face and I was hyperventilating. It was such an emotional arrival that I ran right over to the Au Bon Pain kiosk and ordered myself a heated chocolate croissant. Sitting in the corner at a table near the heat, I took a bite into my treat. Yes, I am an emotional eater, and that croissant did the trick to warm my insides. It couldn’t keep the swirling thoughts in my head that it might be nice to spend winters in Florida.