Our first snowstorm is on the way and I have to say, I am dreading it. Yeah, I know, snow is beautiful. And winter sports are fun. And by April none of that matters to me anymore as I crawl out of my cave, exposing my pale limbs to the first rays of spring sun. Winter is just long here, and full of inconveniences, although I have to admit, some of those inconveniences are of my own making:
- I’m cold, a result of my insisting on topping out the thermostat at a balmy 65 degrees. Easy fix here, but the “put on a sweater” philosophy with which I was raised makes this a hard one.
- I have to leave earlier for appointments. I’m not usually late but I’m never early either. If I have an appointment at 9:00 I will be walking in the door at 8:59:59. Leaving earlier means I must forego my “I have just enough time to take care of one more thing” habit.
- I have to walk through a foot of snow to the compost heap. I could fix this if I weren’t so nuts about composting, or if I moved the compost heap in the winter so it’s closer to the door – but this would require my actually turning the compost.
- Our snowblower was bought for a man – namely, my husband who is considerably larger than I am. But he isn’t always here. My attempts to operate it typically end in tears, foul language or both. My hands aren’t even large enough to engage the darn controls, and to make matters worse…
- Our driveway is about 300 feet long and solid ice about 4 months of the year. And it slopes. Not unusual to end up on your backside as you head out for the mail (or are dragged down it by a large, runaway snowblower) and to make it even worse…
- It curves so you can’t easily drive down it either. It is really embarrassing to end up stuck in a snowbank off your own driveway. I have visions of myself in my later years confined to the house for months on end unable to reach civilization, like some homesteader on the prairie.
- Winter clothes are unflattering. There is no proper way to sport a bulky sweater or parka. Yet, even among us who are meticulous about appearances (a percent that falls steadily throughout the winter months) have given it up by mid-February when the answer to “Have I already worn this sweater this week?” becomes “Who cares, keep your eyes to yourself.”
- Snowpants. And wet mittens. And stinky boots. Can’t someone make a kids’ boot that doesn’t smell like a hamster cage after a few weeks of regular wear?
- It’s dark all the time. There’s been much talk in recent years about Seasonal Affective Disorder. Here in the northland there’s another name for it. It’s called the public mindset.
Of course, when you live in this part of the world you must accept that you do not control the weather, despite whatever wishful thinking or rituals you might perform. Sigh. Better go dust off that snowblower.
Love winter or hate it? Or are you somewhere in between?