I was raised in South Carolina, a southern state where the winters are fairly mild when compared to northern climes. Growing up, I prayed in the wintertime that somehow it would snow. Frequently, when it was cold enough, I would sit at a window, waiting and watching for the snow. It rarely came. Therefore, when I had to make a decision when I joined the Navy to either go to San Diego, California, or to Great Lakes, Illinois, I chose Great Lakes as it was January and, for sure, I would see snow. Well, I did indeed see snow. However, in Great Lakes that winter, the snow would fall and blow away quickly. Most of the heavy, beautiful snow fell in New England. What I did experience in abundance was zero weather. Before I left, I clinched my fist and raised it to heaven, repeating some words similar to those I had heard somewhere else. “As God is my witness, I will never be this cold again. If I have to lie, cheat or steal, I’ll never be this cold again.” So, what did I do when I got out of the Navy, I came to Florida, and I love it.

Reader, if you are not a follower of my blog, I hope you will become one. Go to and on the bottom of the right hand corner you will see the opportunity to sign up so that you receive this blog every time it is published. Click on the word FOLLOW and enter your e-mail address. Thank you.



About bobosbest

I am an 81-year-old retired English teacher whose writing goals are fulfilled by publishing these blogs. I have a wonderful married partner, Dimitris Tsitsiras, who is from Greece. Life is good and still an adventure.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s