Thursday, November 29, 2018

Here's the scene: People standing on the edge of a rocky high cliff, glorying at the scenery below.
Here's Irene, cringing. They're gonna fall off.

People trudging through the snow, or better yet, people on a ski lift, dangling there above the ground.

Children throwing snowballs at trucks. No, make that ice balls and smashing the windshield of the oncoming car. They run away through the foot deep snow.  What fun?

Take it to another season.

Jumping in piles of leaves that they just raked through the whole yard.
Searching in mud through rows of orange pumpkins for just the right one. Feeling that first brisk wind tear through your too-light jacket.

Or, how about frying in the sun?
Diving into a freezing cold pool or ocean or lake?

None of these things are appealing to me.
I can watch scenery from a window. I don't want to ski. Last time I skated was okay, but my thighs got chilblains.

Shoveling snow is back breaking. I don't care if it looks like marshmallow, it is cold, wet and heavy. Oh, my back!

Don't talk to me about driving in snow or ice or fog!

I am not an outdoorsy person, unless there is a horse involved, and even that would take a mighty fantastic horse to get me outside.

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