Soft kisses on a summer's day


It snowed a few days ago, and it reinforced the feelings I’ve expressed before about how truly over the snow I am. Linda liked it, and I have to admit, as I have in the past, that it was beautiful, large fluffy flakes falling gently in the early morning.

But I didn’t appreciate the beauty until after I got home. As is often the case, I had to drive across town to work, for my short stint on site, and then back. By the time I was approaching my house, the roads were slick enough that I could barely stop or make turns. The beauty wasn’t really that appreciable (by me) until I was relaxing inside at our dining room table, looking out into the backyard while we had breakfast together.

It didn’t last long, though. Later that morning, the skies cleared, the temperature rose and the snow started melting. Fortunately, it didn’t require any shoveling. But I know there will be more on the way. Though Linda’s bummed that the long-range forecast is showing Christmas day as being sunny with a high of 54°, and with no precipitation between now and then.

We expect that this will be our last winter here, as we’re planning on making our move overseas next fall. Portugal is a small, temperate country, and doesn’t get much in the way of snow. Near the northern border, it gets some, and even there, not a lot.

But we’re mainly looking in the south, roughly 250 miles straight north of Casablanca, as the gull flies (or the dolphin swims). That’s just a few miles west of the southern coast of Spain. Faro is one of the main cities in this region of Portugal called the Algarve, and the average low temperature in January is around 46°F.


And that’s another thing: We’re going to have to learn Celsius. And the metric system. Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s kind of embarrassing being in a country that, despite its conceit and misguided claims of greatness, is so far behind so much of the rest of the world in so many things. It will be nice to catch up with them. I’m just not looking forward to the bewilderment of the transition. (It’s a little weird to think that I’m only 1.92 meters tall.)

But anyway, back to the snow. Linda says she’ll miss it, but we plan on doing some traveling from our European home base. Just across Spain on its northeast border with France are the Pyrenees. A few hundred miles beyond that are the Alps, and just a bit farther are the Dolomites in northern Italy. So there’s really no shortage of destinations where Linda could get a snow fix. And the best part: We won’t have to shovel.

Granted, it might require driving in it, but to be honest, we don’t really want to do a lot of traveling in snowy areas during the winter. Maybe in the spring.

We both seem to be more attracted to somewhat warmer climes nowadays. We’re not in the time of life, yet, where the equatorial temperatures of Central America sound good, but the cold seems to hold less appeal to us. Having a little place not far from an uncrowded beach, with sunshine and comfortably warm temperatures sounds like the perfect place for us to spend the rest of our life laughing all our cares away. Although I may have doomed our chances with the use of the word “uncrowded” in relation to beaches. But we’ll see.

So, anybody want to buy a snow shovel?