By this time of year people are usually complaining about the cold and the snow and the whereabouts of spring. You meet someone in the supermarket and right away the conversation turns to the weather where you have common grounds about which to chat as you choose your pasta. The word cold is bandied about as people whine and complain and you pick the ziti. This year, though, is entirely different. Cold has a new definition and complaining has taken a different form. Now we complain when the weather is in the 30’s, a temperature which used to be a reprieve from the freezing days of past winters. Today is 35°, and I think it cold. The weatherman predicts the rest of the week will be in the 40’s and Thursday will be close to 50°. That’s winter, at least this year, and I have no complaints.

This morning I noticed all the green shoots in the garden close to the house. I can see three daffodil bulbs, but I forget what flowers the rest of the shoots belong to. Last fall I planted a bundle of different bulbs so I have no idea what’s coming. I figure that’s like getting a gift from spring.

Summer clothes are always the brightest. Winter clothes seem drab by comparison, and I think that the whole color thing ought to be reversed. In winter we should be dressed as brightly as we can be in orange and yellow and pinks and violets and all their combinations. Usually it is Easter which brings back the color in clothes, and that’s not when we need it. By Easter the world has already begun to color itself in bright blossoms and flowers and berries. The gardens are alive and the tree leaves are fresh and bright. It is in winter when we should be at our most brilliant.

Today I will wear the brightest color I can find, maybe even a Hawaiian shirt. I know I’ll have to wear a long sleeve something underneath to keep me warm, but that’s okay. It’s the color you can see that’s important.

In case you’re wondering, I’m that bedazzling shopper in the pasta aisle.