Oh Man Winter
One of the best things about this winter has been the water bottle I leave in the car every night. That water is so cold without being frozen and it feels so good rolling down my heartburned throat – I can’t get out to the garage fast enough. Second best thing about this and every winter? Everything dies. Bugs suck.
I have always liked winter – as long as it comes with snow – probably because I grew up in Michigan and those childhood imprints sure do make a dent. I remember the Blizzard of ’78 vividly with a single stand-out episode: my father and I walking a mile up to the corner store for milk. How we made it in drifts that deep is beyond me but on the way back with milk in his hand and a pack of grape Bubble Yum in mine, a neighbor took pity on us and offered a ride on his snowmobile. I sat behind the man and my dad behind me and we zoomed away. I couldn’t believe our luck! I’d never been on a snowmobile and I had a new pack of gum that I didn’t have to share with my brother. It could blizzard all winter long for all I cared. It wasn’t until we were in front of our driveway that I learned my day had fallen off who knows how far back. My eight-year-old self panicked and having no sense of a square mile, assumed my dad was now forever lost and would die frozen in the snow. I had two pieces of gum to console myself while the snowmobiler backtracked to find him. Dad was fine and even protected the milk carton in his fall. My hero!
Michigan was a long, long, time ago however and as this winter drags on (forecast for a wind chill factor of -15 tomorrow) my love affair with the white stuff is waning.
I always say “Summer is for the thin,” and now I might have to join the ranks who say “Winter is for the young.” Maybe I spent too much time on the West Coast and Bermuda. Even with just one Wisconsin winter under my belt, I have had enough. Maybe it’s because the child, who despite our mustered yet genuine enthusiasm for outdoor play, HATES to go outside in the cold, and ends up dragging all of us down with him when we finally do get him out of the house.
Maybe it’s that I can no longer zip my jacket or my boots. Maybe it’s because I’m sick of grapefruits and oranges. Remember what a ripe berry tastes like? Me neither.
I always scoffed when my husband proclaimed it is best to live in a moderate climate and travel to snow. This was a man who grew up in New Jersey! What about the seasons? What about the extremes! Nope, he is steadfast in his ideals. And you know what — he is right. YOU ARE RIGHT, DEAR. I’m not moving — but I finally agree with you. Let’s start shopping for that Sausalito houseboat, perfect for retirement, swingers dock optional.