Truer Words Were Never Spoken


Truer Words Were Never Spoken

T.S. O'Rama blogs with respect to my comments on the weather:

Sounds like my base state of being. What is ironic is that I've often felt like a good move would be from Ohio to Virginia, and to thus shorten and de-sting the winter and also to enjoy the surreal beauty that covers much of that state. Steven Riddle wants none of the cold of Virginia. But if you are used to Florida I can see how Virginia looks chilly, just as the Minnesotans must grin at my Ohio complaints. It does wear off eventually - my Maine friend, after eight Ohio winters, is no longer laughing at the mild winters.

I moved from Virginia to Ohio, and those were miserable winters. I spent ten years longing to leave Ohio, and when I did so, I moved to Florida. The first winter we were here, we were in short sleeves and shorts throughout December and January. We laughed at those who bundled up in parkas and gloves. The second winter, we too were in overcoats (though not parkas) and gloves when we went up to see the Manatees at Blue Spring, and we understood the poor creatures' seeking warmer climes. I sometimes swear I am not far enough south yet. As it happens, I am not particularly affected by warm weather--and it doesn't get as hot here as Ohio and Virginia can get. In seven years I haven't experienced a single day that touched 100 degrees.

So weather really is relative--but I have never, never liked the cold, and moving from Virginia to Ohio felt like moving into the deepest arctic territory. However, the reverse move would hold for a couple of years, and then the teens and twenties that fill much of a Virginia winter would begin to chill as much as the zeroes and minuses that I remember from many of my Ohio years.

All of this simply makes me reflect on the marvels of humankind. It brings to mind, for no reason at all the following reflections from Act II Scene ii of Hamlet (note particularly the last third):

I have of late but wherefore I know not lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!
Bookmark and Share



About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Steven Riddle published on December 9, 2002 9:55 AM.

On Gunston at Night was the previous entry in this blog.

Delightful Surprises To my mind, is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

My Blogroll