A Chill on the Hill and a Fog in the Bog

I've been looking for something other than the weather to write about. New haircut ( a sort of a platinum haired Louise Brooks style); cooking elaborate vegetarian Indian meals (are all vegetables and spices with little oil, therefore, low calorie); home made ricotta (have recipe, am making for Easter breakfast). There, now  you know everything. 

Yesterday, I discovered something interesting. I've become a New Englander.  I've lived her for nearly 30 years as a midwesterner, but now, suddenly, I'm a New Englander.  How do I know? Because everyone here is talking about the weather and in exactly the same way as me. It's a New England Thing - Winter is lasting too long. Where is Spring? How different 35 degrees feels when it's sunny/or gloomy. Isn't the sky heavy and grey? The birds have started to sing in the morning, but it's still too cold to open the windows. etc.

No matter where I go, no matter how well I know the people I'm with - old friends or perfect strangers - it's the weather we talk about.  I have so integrated the vocabulary and the style of the weather complaints, that I thought it was just me.  But it's not. 

Yesterday, as I was walking across a parking lot huddling into my coat against the cold wind, a stranger - likewise huddled into his jacket - called out to me, 'There's a chill on the hill and a fog in the bog.' 

We both laughed and moved on.  See what I mean?