With every passing year, my body gives me yet another rude wake-up call that I’m getting old.

First, my hair got a bit grayer.

Then my eyes got a bit weaker.

Now my blood has gotten a lot thinner.

I know this because I’m cold.

I’m always cold.

No matter where I am, what I’m wearing, or what the weather is like around me, I’m constantly complaining about how cold it is. Like now.

Even as I write this on a kind of mild April day that feels more like a preview of summer’s warmth, where the sun is beating down on me like a warm embrace, wrapping me in its comforting glow, it’s just not enough for my blood. I’m chilly.

Friends have suggested that I move to Florida, but I’m thinking, not warm enough. I’m aiming for the Maldives, where the average temperature in January is a balmy 80 with perpetual sunshine. Nice, right?

These days I walk into a room and feel for drafts by windows and doors. I check to see what the thermostat is set at and how it compares to the temperature outside.

I even keep a Mr. Rogers-style sweater in my office in case there’s a breeze.

About a month ago without any warning, I started to channel the snowbird ghosts of Del Boca Vista’s past, present and future, blurting out to no one in particular, “It’s chilly! It’s chilly!”

First time I heard myself, I had this vision of sitting on a park bench with my mom and my Nanny Ethel, the three of us hunched over, wearing bifocals, orthopedic shoes, shawls and a painted expression of irritability as we cry out in unison, like some deranged a cappella group, “It’s chilly! It’s chilly! Bring me my Sanka!”

Then I really got the chills.

Mom would have found my need for warmth very amusing, considering how I called her the warmest warm-blooded mammal on the planet. She had an apartment that radiated enough heat to wilt tropical plants. When visiting her in the winter we’d start to disrobe in the elevator, often to the amusement of others who lived in the apartment. It would be 20 degrees outside but we’d have to open Mom’s windows so as not to overheat.  

I always wondered how someone could survive living in a sauna.

My boys now ask me that same question every time they get into my car.

“Aren’t you hot?” they cry out, peeling off their jackets while frantically trying to open their windows – a move aimed at cooling off the hot air blowing through the vehicle while at the same time preventing their eyebrows from singeing.

“Can you turn the heat down a bit?” asks one son, carefully tilting from one side to the other so as not to permanently stick to the seat.

I’m able to allow for the occasional cool breeze by keeping the heater in my car set at boiling.

Seat belts, airbags and anti-lock brakes are great additions to the modern age of transportation, but does anything really beat a heated car seat?

Just to show I’m not completely crazy, in the summer I make sure the dial never moves past simmer.

But I’ve decided to delay any move south, taking comfort after hearing the latest forecast from the National Weather Service, where a hotter-than-usual summer is likely to occur in the U.S., and yes, even here in Sullivan County, where we can expect above-normal temperatures.

Until then, think I’ll put on some warm socks, get my sweater and make a nice hot bowl of soup. Just to help take the chill off.

Barry Lewis is a longtime journalist and author who lives with his wife Bonnie in the Town of Neversink. He can be reached at      barrylewisscdemocrat@gmail.com.