BUT IT'S A DRY COLD!

"It's a dry cold!' 

And it surely is.  Dry.  Very very dry.

Take it from someone who just spent five weeks at the ocean's edge where the humidity never went lower that 50% even though it only rained twice in that whole time.  The mornings tended to be shrouded in mist, anything left outside overnight would be wet with dew.  The sun is brutal, but the air is sweet.

So.  Here we are back in Canada, where as promised, it is cold.  And as an added bonus (they say) it's a dry cold.  Breathing this cold, dry air is killing me.

I first noticed how unpleasant the air was on the never-ending return flight across the Pacific Ocean.  Having done this trip three times now, I am well educated in the unpleasant aspects of 15 hour flights: the discomfort of an economy sized seat, the lack of opportunity to move or stretch, the total distortion of day and night as you fly across multiple time zones.  Add to this list the "conditioned" air and you have a perfect picture of human suffering.  Well, that and the food they serve you; that's a story in itself.

By the time we landed in Vancouver my happy, healthy, moist nasal passage ways were beginning to protest their harsh treatment.  I felt all stuffed up and when I tried to inhale it sounded like someone had stuck a whistle up my nose.  Kinda felt like it too ... pretty darned sore and scratched up.

I didn't have much time to think about it though as there was just barely enough time to make it through customs and check in for our next flight.  We traded our huge 777 for a little puddle jumper and British Columbia's rain for Regina's frozen wasteland.  Upon arrival we put on our winter gear and were chauffeured home in the zombie-like state of been-awake-and-travelling/waiting/travelling-for-35-hours.  We managed some conversation - not sure if I remember much of what was said.

There was soup on for supper.  The dog showed mixed emotions to see us - were really home to stay?  The person who had made to soup had also turned up the furnace and vacuumed up a month's worth of dead winter flies - all were very much appreciated.  It left me with only one very important thing to do: fill the humidifier and set the controls to FULL BLAST.

Even though the water is going down in the reservoir I am unconvinced that there is any more moisture in the air than there was 24 hours ago.  My nasal passages have yet to detect any relief.  In Australia the grandkids had this sweet little spray bottle/fan, a kind of portable cooling device.  I sure could use one or two of them blowing continually in my face at the moment.  I could live with the cool if I could only have the moist.

We are currently in day two of jetlag recovery.  Step one was to stay up until at least it was dark outside so our bodies (which were exhausted) and our brains (that play a part in trying to keep days and nights going in the correct order) had something they could agree on.  Night #1 was pretty successful; except for an hour about midnight we slept around the clock making Day#1 seem like it was normal too.  I foolishly congratulated myself on how well that went, thinking the pain was all over.  Then came Night #2.

Bed time was normal - on the CST clock.  We went to sleep as usual.  And then we woke up ... at midnight.  This time there was no going back to sleep for about four hours, which is totally reasonable considering in Sydney, NSW it was only 5:00 in the afternoon.  After finally getting about 3.5 hours of sleep we dragged ourselves out of bed to show our bodies it was, indeed, morning.  We will try to readjust our internal clocks again tonight.  I think I purposely blot out how long this takes every time just out of self preservation.

But meanwhile those sleepless midnight hours give me lots of time to think.  About what to write in this blog.  About how I want to make a photo album with all the pictures we took.  About getting back into the swing of things ... meetings, appointments, commitments. 

And about how when they reassure you that "It's a dry cold!" they make it sound like it's the cold part that's most difficult to deal with.  With every breath I could feel the delicate skin inside my nose cracking open, the tiny hairs clogged with brittle, scratchy nose debris.  I know that my hard-won suntan will flake off and be gone almost instantly.

It's cold alright, but nothing we can't handle.  It's annoying to have to put on so many layers of clothing after wearing nothing but shorts and sun dresses for a whole month, but I can take annoying.  It's the 'dry' part I`m finding painful.