One of the aspects of living in California that I despised most was the weather. It was always hot (to me); I am most comfortable when the temp is between 20 degrees and 60 degrees F. On the days that my steering wheel was too hot to touch I'd wonder if I was in hell.
Fast forward three years and northwest 2,500 miles. Alaska is a place of extremes, but where I live it hasn't been extremely warm. Not once. We're experiencing our third consecutive week of sub-zero temperatures now and even I, the Ice Queen, am growing weary of the cold.
I took my Jeep to the dealer here in Anchorage this morning, as I had a 10:15 am appointment to have the service department tell my why my ride is leaking small amounts of oil (again). When I arrived, the service department told me that whomever had scheduled me for today must have been hallucinating when he said there was availability. The harrowed man behind the desk explained to me that when the weather is this cold, everybody's car acts up. He said, "I have a stack of order forms for people requesting service as far back as December." He then asked me if it was gushing oil or just dripping. Gushing=emergency and maybe we can get you in by Tuesday. Dripping=Lady, bring your car in next Thursday and we'll try to get it done, but plan on spending all day in our waiting area. We have WiFi. I thought he was going to cry, so I refrained from complaining about having driven 8 miles to reach the dealer only to find that I had no appointment.
During my winter break from college, I rode my bicycle about five times. Each time I rode, I discovered another body part that absolutely had to be shielded from sub-zero wind chills. I am now fully equipped with ski pants with suspenders, a beanie that covers my ears, a face shield with a neck covering, ski goggles, special socks I ordered from Canada, air-activated toe warmers, and the requisite gloves and heavy jacket. My bike traveled back up to Anchorage with me several days ago, but it's languishing in the garage because it's too cold outside to ride until afternoon, and my classes start at 2pm and run until at least 5pm (it's dark at 5).
The moose residing near my home in Kenai have less to dine on during the winter because their veggies are buried under a couple of feet of snow. One night early in January I was in my bedroom watching television and heard a commotion on my front porch. I thought, "Who in the he** is at my door at this time of the night?" Upon investigation I found a moose standing on the porch trying to reach some bark on our tree.