Pumpkins. I like everything about pumpkins. I like their color. I like how there are all different sizes, from the cute little itty bitty ones to giant award-winning insanely heavy ones. I like taking all that gook out from the inside and extracting the seeds and roasting them. I like Jack-o-Lanterns. I like pumpkin-flavored things, from Starbucks's Pumpkin Spice Latte to pumpkin muffins to pumpkin soup. (If desired I will share recipes for Curried Pumpkin Soup and Pumpkin Chocolate Cheesecake Bars.)
Sweaters. Especially the really soft ones.
My trench coat.
My leather gloves. Also, my velvet gloves.
Boots.
Scalding hot showers. Yeah, I know, they are supposed to fry the skin and waste energy. Remember how much I hate winter. This helps me get through it. It's like those magic mood lights, which I should probably use too.
Wood fires.
Hot beverages of all kinds: coffee, tea, chai, etc.
Chili and soup.
My fleece robe. Actually, this comes out all year round to combat winter cold, air conditioning cold, and ice-cream-consuming cold. Yes, I put a robe on over my clothes in order to eat ice cream. Nothing should take away from the joy of ice cream, I say.
Walking in new snow.
Skiing. (Okay, I have not skied in years. But I loved it when I did it. And since I went WAY north to do it, I was able to prove to myself that even I can survive extreme cold if adequately prepared.)
Sledding.
Thanksgiving.
Halloween. My son Pumpkin was born on Halloween. And on Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch (if it is sufficiently sincere)....
My birthday.
Chanukah. And Christmas, y'know, for the days off.
New Year's Eve.
Not needing to run groceries inside before they perish. In fact, if it's cold enough, you can run your other errands after that one. One year at Thanksgiving, there wasn't room in my refrigerator for the cider that I use to make my famous secret-recipe hot cider. So I just kept it outside. (That won't work every year though. I think it was something like 65 degrees and sunny last Thanksgiving.)
Curling up next to a warm fuzzy dog under a blanket. Or, if I'm lucky, a snuggly child. Or both.
In early February 1987 there was about a foot of snow on the ground at Kennedy airport in New York. At my eventual destination, hours and hours later, it was 85 degrees, sunny, warm. It was not an island in the Carribean. It was Eilat, on the southern tip of Israel. So to conjure up that same feeling of warmth, I give you Israeli proggers Orphaned Land.
