January is always too cold for me, but this year, it is especially frigid. So I have the January blues. Remind me, why I do I live in New England?

Every January I declare that I will be somewhere warmer next year. And then, like childbirth, I forget how painful it was, and end up right here when January rolls around again.

This year it is an even greater burden for some reason. Part of it could be because I am now seventy. More than ever, I want to want to appreciate every day, so wishing for more daylight or the appearance of the first crocus has a downside.

Today on my forced (by me) walk around the reservoir, I was passed by several runners, and I yearned for the time before my knees gave out when I ran all winter too.

I watched their flying feet as I walked eyes glued to the ground looking out for the next patch of ice.

I need to make some reservations for next January. Right now.