Summer Dreamin’ on such a Winter’s Day

I made a mistake.

Impossible, I know.

As I was planning what to post today, I started looking through old photos and found this:

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Last Summer*, Lance started teaching me how to play golf.**

*I have decided to make the seasons proper nouns for this post. Hopefully this does not cause any of the teachers or grammar Nazis to start nervously twitching.

**And I swear, I did more than sneak pictures of Hubby.

This might seem like nothing too out of the ordinary, but let me explain. I am the girl who never took gym during her entire high school career*, the girl who would rather ‘watch’ than play a sport, and the girl who, you may recall, just posted about her shameful football illiteracy. Therefore actually agreeing, in fact I may have suggested it, to learn a sport should make all who know and love me question my sanity.**

*I know, I’m shocked I got away with it, too.

**I’m fine…I think.

Perhaps what is even more incredible is that from my very first swing of the club (that sped past my ball, missing it completely, and swung over my shoulder*), I have actually enjoyed golf. So much that as I stare at these pictures I am wishing more than anything to be standing in 80 degree weather, club in hand, rather than bundling up for any interaction I must have with the outdoors.**

*Which is nothing compared to my second swing where I pounded the club into the grass, still inches away from my ball.

**In fact, I would even go for an even hotter day, where the sun is blazing and there is little to no tree coverage. I am that desperate.

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Not to brag or anything, but Hubby has some pretty sweet calves.

Foolishly, I switched over from looking at golf pictures to this:

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…and had to quickly look at a calendar to figure out just how many weeks we have until Summer.*

*18 weeks. You’re welcome.**

**Gosh, 18 seems like such a big number right now, doesn’t it?

I have always loved that Jersey experiences all four seasons. We get a taste of everything and just when we think we’ve had enough of one or the other, the season changes and we get something new.

Our Winter truly has been rather mild up until the last week or so. Still it has been cold enough to remind me that I actually do not like Winter. I want to like Winter. I want to go out into the brisk 20 degree weather (with a real feel of 10 degrees), toss my arms to the sky, and sing “Snow” with as much gusto as the stars of White Christmas.*

*And mean every word. “I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow…”, really Irving Berlin? Really? Does anyone on earth actually want to do that??

But then I see pictures like this and the longing my heart feels to jump into the Summer scene confirms I’ve been lying to myself, and Winter really isn’t my thing.

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Circa 2007, in a submarine on our honeymoon. Please look at my gorgeous tan. Then, at my lovey’s baby face.

I’m a fair weather friend to Winter. I want to invite it over on my time table, receive a few dustings of snow, and then show it the door when I’ve had enough.

Hey Winter, are you getting the hint?

I’ve had enough.

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