Doctor! Doctor! I've Got Nostalgia, Is There a Cure?

Childhood summers in New York City; there's nothing like 'em; The fire hydrants bubbling with activity, you and your cousins adorning pink jellied shoes and your tu-tu style swimsuits to run down the Park Slope streets chasing "Mr. Softee", your uncle Mario almost setting his hand and Camero on fire with illegal fireworks, the stoop-top barbecues, the rides and hot dogs at Coney Island; all of these things remind me of youth. All these things remind me of good times

Chilling in the northeastern cold is something unwelcome to my warm Caribbean blood. I loathe the cold. I hate the way city "activity" turns the snow into a rainbow of colors extending from black to gray to yellow. I hate the little old lady-walk I must do to avoid falling on the ice each day. I hate the incessant Christmas carols being sung by pestering fake happy people on stereos that are seemingly everywhere. I've always hated winter.

Now that we've gotten that all out of the way, something about this wretched and miserable season brings warm and gooey memories to my mind as of late. It reminds me of heaping cups of hot coco, trips to isolated and rustic Pennsylvania cabins, snow angels, snowmen, cookies, long movie days consisting of viewings made up of the words "trilogy", "compilation", or "collection". It reminds me of family. It reminds me of home.

Normally by this time of year I'd be having the usual feelings of apprehension, and grief over the loss of the warmth and sun but because of this sudden nostalgia, my feelings towards Old Man Winter have become rather fond. I look forward to the slow shuffle of life. I look forward to the bulky sweaters and unfashionable waterproof footwear. I look forward to making snow angels and taking long drives to nowhere. I look forward to slowing down and remembering the simpler days, the winter days.