OK. I'm over it. I'm sooo over it.
I'm over the fur-lined boots and the down coats and
the fuzzy hats and the New York City slush. I'm over everyone sneezing on the subway and me shivering under my covers at night.
Around this time of year, I always start to lose my patience with winter. And March is simply cruel -- there's hardly any relief there. Last year, I went to LA at the end of March, and the year before that, to Paris, but this year I won't be traveling anywhere because I have a tight-tight deadline to finish my latest novel for Scholastic (just titled!The Year My Sister Got Lucky. Cover to be posted soon).
So all I can do now is dream of summer. Sultry mornings and iced lattes and flip-flops and the hum of air conditioners. Last summer, I took a trip with my sister, her husband, his brother, and their baby to a small lakeside town in upstate New York. That's me, by the pool, with my nephew (can you tell I'm obsessed? I posted another picture of him once before!). I remember feeling so carefree that day, with no writing to crank out, no heavy scarf to wrap around my neck, just the question of what chilled white wine to pair with dinner that night.
Since last summer was all about the lake, I'm thinking I want this coming summer to be a beachy one. The Hamptons are such a scene, but Montauk is quite lovely. Of course, I should be writing now, but a little long-term vacation planning never hurt anyone... :)