A silent, clothing protest, that is.

To this cold weather … I say, via my clothes : “F this! You will NOT bring me down! I will NOT conform … till you reach 25 degrees.”

So, see at 30, I still make the protest cut off … the one where I refuse to wear closed toed shoes till at least November 1st … at least.

And as for winter coats? F those. Those are not allowed in the single digits of October. They just aren’t. Except when walking B, because, well … that’s different …

Take yesterday afternoon … I could hardly believe it. I actually found myself regretting that I didn’t go back to the house for gloves. Gloves, people. F-ing gloves.

At the beginning of October. What’s wrong with this picture?

Clearly, a lot.

To be honest … this time of year gets kinda challenging for me. I know for a lot of peeps, it’s the holidays … what a breeze those holidays are. Maybe because in some strange way I’m not even all that into holidays. So for me … it’s the lead up to what this time represents.

And it’s walking on super gray, cold afternoons, with the striking colors of the leaves … and finding myself, once again, at Gpa’s. Standing in the driveway with B.

As she barks wildly, wanting to go in. Whimpering. And I want to whimper, too, because my heart feels heavy. But I don’t. Because well, that would just be plain … weird … let’s make that really weird.

So we start walking around the house. I open the gate and go to the back. Heart hurt strikes my entire body, as I walk through leaves and emptiness. Seeing a montage play out before me … of where the sandbox was that Gpa bought for me the summer I was 7. Of sitting out in the yard, just listening to him … telling his stories … reminiscing.

I can’t handle it … maybe it was the gray sky or the coldness … or all of it together and I want B and I to leave … but then my step grandmother pulls up in the driveway.

We go in.

And I last 9 minutes. Because I couldn’t keep staring at his empty chair … the one next to the couch, where I’d curl up and nap and he’d nap next to me and I’d wake up in a lazy daze on a similarly gray Sunday … and somehow, even when he was dead asleep {no pun intended}, he’d know I had just woken up and we’d both smile at each other and go back to our naps.

I really wanted to cry right then and there. But I didn’t. I willed myself not to because I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to stop. And the perfect antidote to crying is to start moving.

B and I walked and walked and walked.

At an incredibly fast pace. The faster I walked, the faster I felt like I was shedding something. Grief. Anger. Things I didn’t know I needed to get rid of … but they were there on me … needing to be walked off.

I enjoyed the crispness of the air, the coldness of my fingers … slightly numb … it felt like the air silenced out old memories, sadness … bringing me back to the present … somehow saying …

Things continue. In their own unique ways. None of us will be here forever in this physical form. It doesn’t make it easier knowing this, but let’s enjoy what we can while we’re here.

Cold weather and all … which I’ll do … but still … I protest.

With sandals and warm weathered dreams.