I’ve kind of hit a wall where winter is concerned.
Actually, I’d like to throw winter against a wall, pick it up and throw it against the wall again…and again…and again.
That’s just how I feel.
I know… nobody really wants to hear about the weather, yet everyone wants to talk about the weather, especially cold winter weather, like this.
Except for the fortunate people—or smart people—who live in warm weather climes, down south.
Those people like to get their schadenfreude on ,so they love to hear about and talk about the cold weather—our cold weather—just to rub our runny noses in it.
But up here, we don’t want to hear it…yet can’t seem to stop complaining, even though we know we’re all going through it.
And the truth is, the winter—this winter, right here in the lower northeast of USA—wasn’t all that bad until just a couple of weeks ago.
We actually had lawns of green, clear sidewalks and fairly comfortable temperatures.
The polar cold snaps were relatively short, and usually followed by rebounding temps in the bearable 40s.
Whatever storms that did roll in were either of the rainy variety or light snow dustings, which didn’t require more than a one handed shovel down the walk.
Whereas, last year, the big snows blew in right after the holidays, followed by another and another, until eventually the polar ice cap formed and mountains of ice made the sidewalks impassible, that is if you could get over the barricades that had formed on every street corner, just to reach the sidewalk.
And this pretty much lasted well into March.
And February, it seems, couldn’t wait to pile on.
So it’s been like living inside your freezer for the past couple of weeks, with the frost free feature on the fritz.
If you’re like, me—and I hope for your sake you’re not—you find yourself standing at the window, whimpering a lot.
And when it’s cold the whimpering gets even worse.
It’s almost as if the long, overextended winter of last year affected us so much that we’ve automatically connected this year’s late arriving deep freeze to the last.
You can’t even imagine the color green, as if the cones and rods of your eyeballs have been short circuited by the vast expanses of white, spread before you.
The cold permeates your bone, making it impossible to feel warmth, no matter how high you set the thermostat or how many logs you throw on the fire.
You find yourself constantly fighting fatigue, and the urge to bake brownies, and cookies, and just about anything that might warm up your belly.
And if you manage to rally, deciding you must break out of your cabin coop, if only for an hour, to walk and stretch your frozen tendons…the effort it takes just to pull on your long johns, layer up your torso, and push into your boots, leaves you so spent you find yourself falling back on the couch and into a nap, before you can even make it to the front door.
But maybe that’s just me.
So, now, here I sit, typing this tome, mostly because it helps restore the flow of blood to the tips of my fingers, which hopefully will allow me to pull the top of the soup can off for my lunch.
Of course, there’s solace in knowing that in another 4 weeks or so, this should all be behind us, even though more storms are on the way.
But that’s okay, because by now we’ve numbed to it all.
Besides, if you have an opportunity, take a look out the window in the middle of the frozen night and spy the full light of the moon spreading shadow cracks of trees across the barren canvas that buries your back yard.
Single digits or not, out there, there's warmth a plenty in that magical scene…maybe even enough to get you through the day ahead, and the next and the next…and the next.
There has to be…my thermostat can only go so high…and I've run out of brownies.