What is the perfect temperature?

Those of you who know me, or are regular readers of my blog, know that I love to read. All kinds of books, but mostly fiction. And lately I’ve been reading books set in places like Montana and Alaska. I’ve been to both places (in the summer), and they are stunningly beautiful. And the weather in summer is lovely. But many of the novels I’ve read are set in the winter. It sounds so delightfully cozy…big fuzzy sweaters, roaring fireplaces, plenty of snow, and of course lots of hot chocolate. As I read, the locations sound so enticing. Cold isn’t that bad! You can bundle up with cute scarves and hats! Hot apple cider will keep you toasty! Maybe I could live someplace northern and beautiful and mountainous. I’m too old and creaky to take up downhill skiing, but cross-country skiing sounds fun. Snow shoeing. Ice hiking. I am so tempted!

Then, it turned cold here in the Midwest. Not Alaska cold, just in the 20s. But it is awful! For instance, my feet seem to always be cold. I start out in the morning with fuzzy slipper socks on, which at first is enough. Later in the day I have to add big slippers on top of the slipper socks. Still later I take both off, put on a pair of warm socks, then put the fuzzy ones and the slippers back on. Three layers! And still my feet feel like two blocks of ice. (I know, I could wear boots in the house, but where’s the fun in that?)

Of course, I do have a personal heating system that I cannot control that just adds to the temperature chaos this time of year. So I need to dress warmly, in plenty of layers, to stave off the misery of cold. But they have to be layers that I can easily shed when a hot flash starts to cook me from the inside out–and then easily put back on when the hot flash subsides and I am left shivering. I always prefer to be hot instead of cold–just not hot flash hot, which is more like molten lava. In fact, I don’t think the Wicked Witch actually melted from the water Dorothy threw on her–she was just menopausal and her body finally gave up. But even these unquenchable menopause-related flushes are less unpleasant in the summer because at least I’m not quaking with cold after they pass.

My mother used to say that she preferred being cold to being hot because you can always add more layers (coats, blankets, sleeping bags) but you can only take off clothes until you are down to your skin (and I generally try not to get quite that far down, at least in public). Not so for me–I’d rather be hot, and I have tricks for cooling off. One I learned when I was 12 years old. We had just moved to a new town, and I went to an August slumber party with three other almost-seventh graders. (The hostess was forced–er, strongly asked–by her father, the real estate agent who sold us our house, to invite me over, but that’s another story. Multiple stories, really.) The hostess said we were going to play a game and put me in the middle of the basement rec room. She then covered me with a blanket, only my head poking out. She set the stage by telling me I was on a desert island and it was really hot, then asked what I would take off first. I said the blanket. (Duh.) That’s my trick!

The other girls were very disappointed–apparently the idea was that I would take off all my clothes under the blanket then they would remove the covering and I’d be naked and embarrassed. (Twelve-year-old girls can be very mean.) I don’t know who that “game” would work on–maybe the lead-up was supposed to include that I would be immediately sunburned if I came out from under the blanket? Even with that added fact, I suspect I would have taken off the blanket first. The rules of temperature are pretty simple–when you are hot, remove the heaviest layers and drink cold things. When you are cold, add more (and heavier) layers and drink hot things. Not rocket science.

Of course, the best is to be neither hot nor cold. My husband calls this state “the absence of weather.” Perfect comfort, no sweat, no shivers. That may happen regularly on the beach or in the mountains, but here in the Midwest, we get this perfect temperature maybe two or three times a year. On all the other days, I’ll be maneuvering in and out of various layers and drinking hot and cold toddies to regulate body temperature. And thinking about visiting the location of whatever novel I’m reading–wherever it is, it sounds perfect.