Every year, in the midst of winter and early spring, I forget how HOT it gets in New Hampshire summers. And then the heat comes, and the humidity comes, and the doors swell in our apartment, and the ceiling fans and open windows and closed blinds don't seem to help, and I sweat in my sleep, and I am taken by surprise. I have to dig out my window unit a/c, like a Southern wuss who is used to central air conditioning, and I have to bite my tongue when I want to complain about the lack of that wonderful invention here in the North.
Every year, in the midst of summer and early autumn, I forget how very COLD it gets in New Hampshire winters. And then the first snowfall comes, and the first sub-zero windchill comes, and the wind comes, and it's completely dark at 5pm, and I am taken by surprise. I have to re-learn how to dress myself for the cold, and I question my past claims of "Oh yeah, I could totally live here for good. I'm getting used to the winters."
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