Snowbirds

Before my parents moved back to Texas a couple of years ago, they spent a decade on the west coast of Florida. We never considered visiting at this time of year. Living in Houston, we didn't need a break from the winter and their town swelled and choked with what my father, somewhat less than affectionately, called "snowbirds"--northerners (anyone north of the Florida state line) who, for weeks or months, found respite from the cold on Florida's sunny beaches. The same folks he grumbled about as he rode their bumpers on the one road on and off of their island were liable to be the same ones he had a good ol time with on the golf course. But no matter. My parents have now flown back to Texas and we now live in a place where we are thankful when the temps reach double digits or the sun appears at all. Where is Florida when you need it? The glacier that is the hill to our house is slowly losing its ice (slowly as a man balding). I attempted it yesterday without four wheel drive. So that is a small triumph. My survival skills are exponentially multiplying. People here keep insisting, "We never have winters like this," to which I say, "Get used to it". With the same cosmic logic that ensures if you wash your car it's going to rain, because we moved to a place we believed had mild winters, mild winters here are history, global warming notwithstanding. As soon as possible, I'm going to turn into a snowbird myself. In the meantime, my paper birds are keeping me company.