In the Soup

As the country slogs its way through winter, I think it's safe to say that we're all watching the thermometer climb and plummet with increasing trepidation. As a Floridian, I'm naturally shiver-prone and cold-averse; but right now, I'm amazed that I can keep my fingers steady enough to type out coherent sentences in between all the chill-induced trembling. My fingertips cringe in fear every time I touch something metal, and the steering wheel in my car could instantly freeze soup. 
Hot soup. 
Piping hot, thick soup, dripping down my head and over my body, warming me from the outside in.
Ahhh.
Right now, I'm not so much hungry for soup as I am wishing that I was swimming in it. 
Is it weird to be fantasizing about being an ingredient in the soup pot? 
Or maybe sandwiched between the plates of a hot panini press... 
Yes, I'm sitting in Panera. 
Which might be the source of my food-related fantasies of warmth, but still. 
I can't help but wonder what Freud would think. 
He'd probably tell me that I was suffering from hunger––and not hunger related to actual food. 
But I think I'm getting off topic here, so I'm going to reposition my GPS...
I can only hope, as I eye the falling drops of FREEZING COLD rain that this taste of hell will soon be over, and that warmer days are peeking around the corner. 
I think we're all ready to thaw out and be rescued from the misery of these record breaking weather patterns. I know I said in an earlier post that I was going to try to grin and bear it, that I would somehow try to turn my grimace into a genuine smile, but I'm finding it awfully hard.
I think I'm barely bearing it, and the grin has gone into hiding. 
It's too cold for the pearly whites to come out and play.
So here's my bit of sunshine in the midst of all this mess––Here's what I'm trying to remember as I contemplate the best time to leave this haven of warmth and wiFi.
These days of frigidity are not forever.
They are the exception to the rule, rather than the everyday reality.
This too, shall pass, and we'll all marvel that we made it.
We'll have odd stories to tell one another.
And one day, grandchildren will roll their eyes through stories of the days when we had to walk both ways uphill...through the snow...in Florida.
Sounds like a tall tale in the making to me. 
For now, I'll keep dreaming of stone soup and cozying up to some carrots.