When I was younger, it was with great anticipation that I would welcome the first snow of the season. The heat and the humidity was over for a while. The holidays were fast approaching. And there was a nip in the air ( I’m not sure if anyone has used that phrase in this country since December of 1941).
But then something changed. Right about the time my biological clock turned fifty. Suddenly I began to view snowflakes as if they were germ spores, coughed up in my face by a four year old boy with a runny nose. How did I get here?
As they say upon your arrival in hell, it doesn’t matter how you got here, you’re here now. Dress accordingly.
What’s the worst part about feeling this way? It’s not the slipping and the falling. Or the inevitable breaking of the hips. It’s not the shoveling. I still enjoy a good workout from time to time. It definitely is not the cleaning off of the cars or the awful driving conditions.
It isn’t even the cold. The bitter, bitter cold. I think, for me, it’s simply the lack of color. I think that’s why the Trump administration loves the snow so much. All they see is white.
Looking out the window and seeing everything blanketed in white is about the worst image I can imagine. No green. No brown, either. Forget that white is supposed to be associated with purity. As a human species we have long since given up on that myth. If heaven exists and I was fortunate enough to ever make it there I wouldn’t want a white robe. I’d ask for a tie-dyed one.
For years we have considered Lake Placid as a possible retirement destination. We vacation there every summer and simply love it. But this week, the start of the third week in November, it’s snowing there 6 out of 7 days, with temps dipping to 0. That’s zero. As in there’s zero chance that we’ll ever be moving there.
And of course, getting snow and cold weather this early in the season we have to endure the double digit IQ citizens of this, “Great” nation who remind us, “I told you global warming was a myth, it’s so cold”.
Or even worse, those still as yet optimistic individuals who jump out of bed every day with a spring in their step, “Don’t you love the change of seasons?” Yes, actually, I do. It’s what happens right after the change that annoys me.
So why not just move, maybe to Florida, or Texas, or even California?
Well, my double digit IQ fellow citizens notwithstanding, in ten years half of Florida will be underwater. Texas does have the added bonus of granddaughter Olivia. But nothing else. Literally. Except wide open space, scorching heat, tornados and, oh, yeah, these morons walking around with guns strapped to their hips and still wearing large hats on their heads, who politely call you, “Ma’am”, just before they shoot you. And as for California, well, just bad timing there.
What about Wisconsin? Well, a business there in Hortonville, one which produces glassware embedded with…bullets…recently decided to give each of their company employees handguns as Christmas presents. Ho, Ho, Boom! I wonder if their worker’s compensation insurance covers accidentally shooting yourself in the groin?
Maybe, Kentucky? Their illustrious state leader, Matt Bevin, recently announced that stronger gun regulation is not the answer to eliminating mass shootings. No, he knows the real issue is, “America’s culture of death, including our obsession with zombie television shows” is really to blame. Matt, it’s time to realize that you and your fellow lawmakers are part of the real, “Walking Dead” in this country.
So I’m considering every November 30th being placed into a medically induced coma and being woken up every April first. And if I live, optimistically, another twenty years, that would mean sacrificing about 2400 days of my life. I’m good with that (and I’m not blinking while I’m typing this).
But, I’m stuck here, for now…you might say, trapped. In an otherwise happy life. Hey, wasn’t that the title of a recently forgotten book? Available on Dorrance Publishing for $14.00?
It is unfortunately true that once you reach 55 weather begins to play a significant role in your life. Third only to food and a regular bathroom routine. The recent weather, the current weather and most importantly, the projected forecast begins to dominate your life. When we were kids it seemed they only projected the weather about 2 or 3 days ahead. Now, we get the 15 day forecast, or even worse the seasonal forecast. You know those people, the ones you really wish they’d bring back public stonings for…in August you’re hearing, “They say it’s going to be a really bad winter…unusual amounts of snow, they’re saying”. Let me be the one to cast the first stone.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. And I love where we live. But for four months of the years it’s a bit of a struggle. My darling wife constantly reminds me, “Dress warmly and accordingly and you’ll be fine”. Despite this advice we’re still happily married. It seems that I need my winter hate. I need to embrace it. Much like the Trumps embrace ignorance and stupidity.
I realize it’s not good, or healthy to waste precious days. Milo is turning 6 next week, my goodness. And 60 is lurking close behind me, making up ground with each passing snowstorm. And eventually, I’ll be sleeping for 12 months a year. Speaking of which I read recently a posting in the obituary section of the paper where a family announced their dear departed father was happily celebrating his, “Fifth birthday in heaven”. It scares me to think that some of these people are responsible for transportation safety or medical treatment here in the real world. But it doesn’t scare me as much as what I’m about to face in the next hour.
So out I go, at 6 am, to clean off the cars, and clear the driveway, then to make that cold, cold trek 300 yards up to the office. Into the heat with my thermals on under my clothes and my hot chocolate on my desk.
Trapped in a Happy Life 