Perspective

There is a huge difference between 55 degrees Fahrenheit and 55 degrees Fahrenheit and 55 degrees Fahrenheit.

Last week, in early early March, the temperature (nearly) reached 55 degrees Fahrenheit.  The following day, the neighbor child walked to school in shorts and a light jacket. (It was 37 degrees and yeah, he was pretty much purple by the time we reached school, but no, he wasn't cold at all.  Nope.  Not at all.  Really warm, in fact.)  In spite of the neighbor boy turning blue in the cold, the world did smell like mud and pine and living, growing things.  Spring is coming!  And then summer!  It's almost summer!  At 55 degrees!

But in September, when the temperature drops from 80 degrees Fahrenheit to 55 degrees Fahrenheit overnight, the neighbor boy comes dressed in long pants and a heavy jacket.  That evening, we pull out our sweaters and start a wood fire in the basement fire place.  Winter is coming.  Because the temperature dropped to 55 degrees.

When we lived in California, I remember distinctly those long rainy winter months, and that the average high temperature, day after day after day, was stuck at the bitter cold value of 55 degrees Fahrenheit.  I was so cold, and so tired of winter.  I longed for warmer weather -- for spring.  Warmer than 55 degrees.

Perspective.