Travel Advisory

Yesterday, Savannah was 70 degrees, in the sun at least.  And on the concrete steps of Ellis Square I drank my peach sangria—in a to go cup of course—and watched children, adults, and dogs run through the syncopated fountain show.  Yesterday, my cheeks became red and my shoulders looked a little less ghostly.  Large groups of pub-crawlers in varying green t-shirts took their time solving clues on what can only be described as a St. Patrick’s Day scavenger hunt through pubs across downtown.  Nobody seemed concerned the event was taking place about two weeks early.  They sauntered around sporting giant green hats and ties, orange-feathered boas, and special green plastic mugs.  A live band played near the edge of the City Market at the perfect volume to not turn a conversation into a yelling match.  Yesterday I skipped right over spring and soaked up the summer atmosphere. 

Even around 7am this morning the cool air was crisp and fresh.  I did not need to huddle inside the hotel lobby and make a mad dash for the shuttle once it arrived, but rather chose to wait outside and enjoy my last moments with the remnants of warm air.

Two plane rides later I faced a very different cold air.  The kind that seizes your lungs and makes your nose run.  Snow saturated my shoes and my chest stung as my shallow breathing struggled to keep up with my long strides.  The dry air scratched at my clogged sinuses and deepened the cold I already had brewing.  Yesterday, all I wanted was my sunglasses and some ice cream.  And today?  Well today all I want is large amounts of tea brought to me while I disappear into a mound of blankets.  The feeling of skin-baking warmth is quickly becoming a distant memory. 

While I have been known look towards future season with desire, I can still appreciate each season its proper time.  I don’t hate snow, in fact I like it for the most part—the giant clumps of flakes catching in my lashes though I try to catch them with my tongue, the quiet glow of the streets at night, and of course sledding.  But enough is enough.  When I left Pittsburgh Wednesday for the Sigma Tau Delta international convention, I didn’t even really need my winter jacket.  I grabbed the long plaid pea coat out of habit rather than necessity.  And my scarf was brought along as more of a travel pillow than a means of staying warm. 

I am not mad at the snow or the fact that it’s cold in the middle of winter.  I’m angry at the inconsistency.  This rollercoaster of erratic temperatures is making me dizzy, and apparently clogging my sinuses.  But evidently this is to become the norm of future winters—dressing in two sweaters, wool socks, scarfs gloves and jacket one day just to contemplate if enough snow has melted for it to be acceptable to wear flip-flops the next.  

The weather is a dirty tease.  She gives glimpses of spring—a field of grass here a patch of sun there—just to cover it all up with pounds of snow.  And tops it all off with piercing wind for good measure.  Weather is a sadistic creature. 

But maybe I’m being dramatic, maybe I’m just jealous of Savannah’s day in the mid 50’s or when I learned on my brief layover Charlotte was in the high 60’s.  Maybe if I give the outdoors a bit longer of a chance I would re-acclimate to the screeching winds and the slush-covered boots.

Maybe.

But I don’t think I’ll abandon my Earl Grey and oversized comforter to test that theory out.