Now I want it to go away.
I'm having a friendly back and forth with snow-loving friends. They tease me. It's OK. I understand that many people love the snow, especially here in the Northwest where the ski resorts beckon; many love the exhilaration of a downhill run or at least the cool factor of hanging around the lodge. Some just like the look and feel of a wintry day.
Hub is a snowboarding fanatic and is making his slow way home today, through rotten driving conditions due to winter storms in the mountains, after 10 days on the slopes of Idaho. Nope, I don't get it. I don't like to be cold and I can't imagine putting slippery slices of wood under my feet, facing downhill. I've never been athletic and have a visceral fear of the out of control feeling of falling which inevitably ends (gravity!) in a "thunk" that is painful at least in the moment and often for days and possibly weeks/months in a cast. If I can choose not to do that, why would I choose otherwise? Maybe the adrenalin rush just isn't that important to me.
I've tried cross-country skiing. It's hard. And cold. I've tried snowshoeing, which is basically hiking on very big awkward spikes. It's hard for while until you get the hang of it, but it's tiring. And cold. Both endeavors have left me in tears more than once, feeling like a wimp and a failure. I've tried tobogganing and sledding but I'm not a fan of the go fast downhill, "omygod I'm gonna flip", feeling. And it's cold.
Maybe it is the cold, more than the snow. I dress appropriately, but I feel so bound and restricted and just uncomfortable in all those layers of down and Gortex. My feet never, ever stay warm enough.
Plus, I grew up in northern Illinois, where winters were frigid and the reason we left.
I have un-fond memories of years of scraping icy windshields, unfreezing door locks, shoveling out of parking places, sliding on icy streets (resulting in 10 scalp stitches after one car accident), falling in icy parking lots, enduring teeth-chattering windchills, jumping dead-battery cars, sitting on ice cold carseats, breathing such frigid cold air that my chest hurt as I walked to and from the el station. I recall crying while beet red skin thawed out from exposure, causing needles of pain to erupt on my face, feet, and hands, after walking to and from my junior high school, a little over a mile each way. (No, not uphill, but still...)
Forty-one years ago today (I looked up the dates), I experienced the "Chicago Blizzard of '79" when 30 inches of snow fell with winds blowing up to 40 MPH. We were all snowed in; cars not moving. We trudged through drifts of snow everywhere. The snow stayed on the ground until March. That's when Hub and I decided enough was enough. The following year we left Chicago and have only been back for visits -- mostly not in Winter.
Winter has been a sad time too. I note that everyone in my extended family so far (expect my mom, who waited until July) died in the chill days of Fall and Winter. My Sister-in-Law in October, older brother in November, brother-in-law in December, Dad and younger brother in January. I stood at my dad's graveside, a howling wind swirling the snow at the old country cemetery on the edge of a cornfield, windchill 30-below zero. Dreary days.
I was happy to settle in a part of the country that has a milder, maritime climate. Not too hot; not too cold; snow but infrequently and it doesn't last long. Living near the mountains, the athletic men in my family learned to love snowboarding and I got to stay home, warm and happy. Win-win.
So as I look out today, I'm thankful I have nowhere I have to be; I have everything I need. Living on a hill up a sloping 100 ft driveway makes me nervous about slipping and sliding my way anywhere. I'm grateful for my cozy house and hopefully brief wintry view from my windows. I understand others feel differently, but for me, snowy days are about museums, movies, friend and family gatherings, fireplaces, tea cups, books...you know indoor pursuits.
At least, that's the view from here...©
