There’s way too much snow outside for my liking. I can remember when this kind of weather was exciting; each new layer of fresh powder goodness was a blessed event. Then I lived in upstate New York for a few years and learned what real snow was. My love affair with winter began to fade.

The older I get, the less appeal winter holds for me, the more I think I want to pack up and live like Hemingway down in Key West, Florida. Under my sweater, I’m wearing my favorite T-shirt. It’s white with a black sketch drawing of a cat with six toes and the title, Hemingway House. As I write this, I’m sneaking glances at a panoramic picture of a tropical paradise that sits on top of my monitor, wishing I was in the photo.

But at the same time, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Living here was a choice, not a prison sentence. And that’s what I try and remember every day, that living here is a choice I’ve made. Even when it’s 0 degrees outside and there’s a half foot of snow on the ground.