There is this phrase we used to say in Phoenix. When we were basking in the sun at a spring training game at the end of February, a little concerned about sun burns, while much of the rest of the country was still bitterly cold. Or in mid-November when we sat outside, margaritas in hand, marveling at the fact that it was finally cooling off at night – to just the right temperature.
We smiled and we said, This is why we live here.
Those sunny, temperate winter months were therefore known as this-is-why-we-live-here weather.
When we arrived in Pennsylvania, it was still unseasonably cold. It got down to 22 degrees one night. I wore a scarf in the house every day for the entire first week.
Mike’s sister and brother-in-law drove three hours from their home in Maryland to visit during our first weekend in town. We’d take Ryan outside to play and then we’d bring him back in seven minutes later. When we went out to eat, we’d rush to the car and then rush to the restaurant. I remember this rushing – I rushed through the cold in Cleveland for two decades.
But there have been these moments … Ryan and his uncle stomping around and roaring like dinosaurs … Mike and his Dad watching and analyzing baseball together … my mom-in-law cracking open a bottle of wine for us to share and winking as she says, “I swore I wasn’t going to have any today … but what the hell, right?”
I smile and I think, This is why we live here.
These simple moments, which you might take for granted if they hadn’t been lacking for nine years, are therefore my new this-is-why-we-live-here weather.