Welcome to the tropics.
Wool socks. Sweats. Long-sleeve T. Short-sleeve T. Giant fuzzy brown sweater. Fleece slippers. I'm still shivering. I'm standing in the poop park with one dog determined to finish doing her business as quickly as possible so she can get out of this wind and another who forgot why we came out and is now trying to pull my arm out of it's socket so she can get six inches closer to the fallen branch that she's been barking at since we got here.
It's cold. Well, cold for me. I mean, it's not Canada or Sweden cold, but it's more than I want to deal with without a parka and a sled. Three years ago, when the possibility of moving to Costa Rica first popped up, I imagined something more along the lines of Cuba or the Dominican Republic in terms of heat and humidity. If we had moved to the beach, that might be the case. I guess I never took into account the idea that we might be living in a valley, at a couple thousand feet above sea level, subject to winds and cold weather.
I'm back in the house, both dogs are snoring and my nose is cold. I'm gonna go dig out the thick cashmere blanket that I stuffed into a box ten months ago and snuggle into bed. I actually hope this cool weather lasts. I like the idea of putting up the Christmas decorations without breaking into a sweat. Cool will be nice. Cool is not tonight. Tonight is wool socks and sweats weather.
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