[chimes playing a tune]
>> Like a dieter thinking
about the New Year,
I think about the approaching
winter and make plans
for how I'll deal with it.
I'll be honest, what I really
want to do is curl up
in my flannel sheets and
come out of hibernation
when the lilacs are in bloom.
But since that's not an option,
I tell myself
this will be the winter that
I'll get out there so much
that my blood will get
as thick as petroleum jelly.
I'll go for brisk walks
in my sleeping bag coat
and suck up vitamin D
through my face.
I'll use of the skis in my
garage that are getting brittle
from disuse.
I'll try to be more like the
crazy people I know and envy
who don't mind,
and even relish, the cold.
My brother-in-law could spend
all day in hockey skates
clearing snow off
a frozen lake with a broom
to make a gigantic skating rink.
I know cross country skiers and
snowshoers who can't wait to put
on their ultra-light
down jackets and head outdoors
as soon as the snow falls.
I have cycling friends who
stud their bike tires
and clean road salt
out of their derailers
when they get home.
For them, winter is
the best season.
They sleep with their window
open a crack.
They find beauty in the snow
on the branches,
the low, clear light
and the sight of their breath
suspended in air
in front of them.
Don't these icicle huggers
know that winter is supposed to
be un-loveable, punishing,
dangerous?
Jack Frost kills his victims
by covering them with snow.
Exposed to the elements
for too long, our digits
can turn blue and fall off.
Winter means the search
for the missing glove,
slipping on black ice,
clearing crud off our
windshields with the edge
of a credit card,
the gross dampness on
your wool scarf after
it's been on our mouth,
the mushroomy smell of boots,
and wind
like rocks in your face.
Winter lovers will tell you
that it's all about
having the right gear.
I wish it were that simple.
I'm one of those people who
think of cold as a form of pain.
What I love about winter
isn't the cold,
but the way I protect
myself from it.
I like the contrast
the bitterness creates
between warmth,
like sea salt on dark chocolate.
When I try to think about
what I love about winter,
I think of soup on the stove,
my favorite sweater,
of curling up on a couch
with a down throw and book.
I think of hot chocolate and
fires and steaming radiators.
I think I could handle
winter better if it didn't
stick around so long.
But I reach a point when
the snow turns to dirty slush,
my happy-lamp stops working,
and the heating bill
could be mistaken for
a college tuition invoice.
Winter's okay until I hate it,
and it gets ugly when
I cross that line,
something that could happen
in a matter of months, weeks
or days.
But for now,
the season of fender-benders
and broken hips
has just begun,
and I'm cautiously optimistic.
[chimes playing a tune]