I’m not sure about you, but when I get cold, I am cold until some outside force (think heated blanket, hot tea, thick, rich soup) heats me back up again. It’s always been this way for me, and it always reminds me of my Grandma T. She would reach down to hold my hand and I would nearly jump out of my own skin with how cold she was. She would then smile sweetly and say with a shrug: “Cold hands, warm heart!” Without a doubt, she had one of the warmest hearts a soul could ever meet.
Generally, she would make us delicious hot, home-cooked meals every day of our visits, and you could honestly tell that giving was in her blood. Or maybe it was that cooking warmed her up. I’d like to think it was the former reason mostly, however I can’t help but speculate that a tiny part of it was the latter.