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My toes stay frozen most of the time, in spite of being enveloped by thick layers of sock, and I'm tired of wearing heavy sweaters and jackets indoors.

I hesitate to complain too loudly though, especially to my Texas friends and family. When I do, they automatically respond with, "Well, come on back to Texas then!"

"Um, no thank you," I reply. "I'll just take a hot bath and I'll be fine."

 

One of my fellow Texas expatriates is having a get-together at her Durango home on New Year's Eve. A childhood friend of hers from Texas is arriving this week, so the party is also in honor of her visit. I am also invited.

Imagine that ? three Texas women gathered together in Colorado to celebrate the beginning of a new year! Look for us in the police report.

 

Last week during a big snowstorm, I saw Texas tourists throwing snowballs at each other as they walked the sidewalks of downtown Durango. How did I know they were Texans? Believe me, I can spot my kin a mile away!

"Oh, how cute!" I said to myself. "That reminds me of my tourist days of not so long ago."

Kind of made me want to throw a snowball.

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We're everywhere!

In the last week alone, I have by chance met several former Texans who transplanted to Colorado like me. And this is a weekly if not daily occurrence for me.

I'll tell you about them, but I'm changing their names to protect their innocence!

Melanie is an acquaintance that I've known, via other friends, since June. She was in my coffee shop the other day getting a latte, and through casual chatting I discovered she is also from Fort Worth. Not only is she from Fort Worth, she went to school many years ago with my niece Lacey!

"I try to keep that under wraps," she said in a low voice. "I got here as fast as I could, and that's all that matters!"

Cliff is a new friend I made this week during pint night at a local brewery. He's been in Colorado for nearly 20 years, but he's originally from Dallas, where his extended family still lives.

"Another damn Texan!" he said, when he discovered my jaded past.

If I had time and blog space, I'd list all the local folks I know who have either lived in Texas or have some kind of close connection with the Lone Star state. I won't frighten you with those details, but I will say this:

Look around you. Odds are the person to your right is a Texan!

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That was the first and only time any of my immediate family members went snow skiing when I was growing up. For more than 35 years of my life, skiing was a foreign concept to me, an activity enjoyed, I thought, by people with lots of money.

But when my children became teenagers, their father and I decided that holiday trips to Colorado would make better Christmas gifts for them than electronics or new clothes or money. We took three trips in four years, and my kids learned to ski and snowboard. I, however, chose to watch them from the snowy base of the mountain. I had a hard enough time just breathing in the high elevations, and I couldn't imagine trying to exert any physical effort beyond walking and talking.

Fast forward five years.

Here I am, a Texas expatriate living in Colorado. I've been here almost four years now, and I'm ashamed to say that I still have not learned to ski. Every winter, it's the same story ? I tell myself, "This is it, this is the year that I will become a ski bunny." But it still hasn't happened. Time and money constraints ? and a lack of enthusiasm for taking ski lessons by my lonesome self ? have kept me off the slopes. (And at 45 years old, I have to admit that I am less willing to subject my body to potentially painful experiences than I was when I was younger.)

Many ski resorts opened Thanksgiving weekend, and I find myself saying, once again, "This is the year?." Perhaps it will be. We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

But just in case I really do follow through, I guess I better load up on plastic bags and Scotch-Guard and Icy Hot.

I should be prepared, don't you think?

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Trucks. Big trucks.

Let me explain.

Tonight, after a months-long search, I found the mattress/box-springs set of my dreams. Exactly what I've been looking for ? gently-used, fabulously-priced, king-sized with an unbent frame. I quickly staked a claim on the bed, arranging for purchase and promising to pick it up this weekend. Feeling pretty smug, I fairly skipped to my car from the mattress-owner's house, patting myself on the back along the way.

And then I started planning the Big Move.

"Hmmm..," I thought. "Who do I know with a truck?"

I wracked my brain, flipping through my mental files of friends, acquaintances and family members. But lo and behold, I couldn't come up with one single local person I know who has a pickup truck large enough to carry that huge mattress load from Durango to my home in Cortez.

Back in Texas, big trucks are a dime a dozen. In fact, in the Lone Star state, you can't spit without hitting either a truck or a truck owner ? or both! My son has a big truck. My cousins have big trucks. My ex-husband has a big truck. My brother has access to big trucks. Some of my Texas friends have big trucks or know someone who would loan me a big truck.

But I'm not in Texas anymore, Dorothy. I'm in Colorado, the land of Suburus and Toyotas and Priuses and small trucks. I'm not saying there are no big trucks in the Four Corners, I'm just saying they are fewer and far between than in, you know, Texas.

So if you see a little Suburu Forester driving down Highway 160 this weekend with four feet of mattress strapped to its roof, that's me.

Just honk and wave and wish me well. And feel free to take photos.

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My cousin Crystal and her husband Scotty, both native Texans, are weary of Florida life and want to move someplace where they can experience ? you guessed it ? four seasons.

"I did some research on Durango, and we think it's exactly what we're looking for," Crystal told me last night in a Facebook chat session. "The mountains, the outdoor recreation, the laid-back lifestyle ? all perfect for us."

Crystal has worked for Walt Disney World for many years, so she's used to working ? and living ? in an overpriced, touristy environment. In fact, the one bedroom apartment she rents in Florida costs as much as most two-bedroom condos in Durango. So for Crystal and Scotty, Durango's oft-maligned high cost of living would actually be an improvement.

Nevertheless, I gave my cousin the advice I like to give to those venturing into the unknown and unsure world of relocation, to counter-balance the nay-saying pessimists who will surely try to rain on their parade.

"If you want something bad enough, you can find a way to make it work," I said. "If you really want to live in Colorado, you can find a way to live here and live well."

I speak from experience, of course!