Old Man Winter has nothing on me

Oh, how I enjoy the winter.

I like waking up on a winter morning, when my bed is warm and comfortable. Flannel sheets are pulled up to my chin and flannel pajamas twisted around my body from a restless night of sleep. I am a human blanket burrito. I like the cool air of my bedroom as I peek my nose out from the blankets. My cat is sleeping on the pillow next to my head. His fur tickles my nose. He always opens one eye to look at me and then purrs. As if he's giving me his daily blessing. It's always preferred to stay in bed on cold, crisp mornings.

If it's a preferred day, meaning any day I don't have to go to work, I'll pull on a favorite pair of jeans and a warm sweater. I set my sights on the couch in the living room. It's big. And purple. And soft. It has my name written all over it, just waiting for me to park my body on it. It beckons me, "Come to me. You know you want to. Sit on me. Read a book on me. You know you have a favorite to read. You're not going anywhere. Try it for just a minute."

I tend to heed the call of my couch on those days. I go to my library and pull out an old favorite book. It's pages are tattered and bent. The cover is worn and faded. Signs that this is a book that I love.

Some kindling and dry logs sit in wait in the fireplace. Waiting for me to light the fire. I open the flue and light my match. I watch as the fire slowly takes hold of the paper that is placed under the kindling. Newspaper from earlier in the year I'm sure or perhaps pages from a magazine I had to have. The small flame licks at the kindling. Slowly but surely I see the fire start to gather in strength. A log starts to smoke. I enjoy the smell of the fire in the fireplace. Smoke billows up the chimney from the logs catching fire. Soon, I have a good fire. The heat warms me. The sight is mesmerizing. Too hot to touch, but I can't help but poke at it with the fire poker. The logs are being consumed by the now raging fire. It pops and crackles as if it were alive and talking to me.

I close the fireplace grate and move to my hope chest. I pull out a favorite blanket that now smells of cedar. It's something either my mother or grandmother knitted at least forever ago. It's soft and colorful. I've spent many days and nights wrapped within it's borders as a child and now as an adult. I inhale deeply the smell of the blanket. Cedar, yet something else. Memories of another winter day long ago? Now my day is set.

The couch beckons me. I have a roaring fire in the fireplace, a favorite book, and my trusted blanket. I heed the call.

My body nestles into the couch. I feel my body sigh as the couch welcomes me into its purple softness. I wrap my blanket around me so that I am once again a human blanket burrito. My book is ready to be delved into. As I am wrapped in comfort and wonderful homey smells, I open the pages of my beloved book and start to read. I easily slip out of this world and into another.