My first winter here, everything was new, even interesting. I thought of it as a challenge, and I was bound and determined that I wasn't going to let some abstract "winter" keep me from doing what I wanted to do and living the way I wanted to live. And honestly, I got through it. I survived. It was OK. This year, the thought of winter makes me feel rather run-down.
Sure, there are good things about it. There are days when it's beautiful, like living in a Currier and Ives print. I remember Thanksgiving day. It was snowing, and I drove from the town through the woods to pick up my friend Catherine for Thanksgiving dinner at a friend's home. And it was lovely. The snow was clean and fresh (this before it's been plowed to the side of the road five days straight and has turned a bleak grey); the river ran past snowy banks covered with trees. It's pretty. I grant that. And I enjoy the beauty of it. And I feel that surge of artistic impluse that makes me want to photograph all the beauty, and even the ugliness, that I see.
But then there are the day to day practicalities. For instance--dry skin. I've lived much of my life in climates with relatively dry summers. But dry skin was never something I thought about all that much. Now it's like this enemy to be fought daily. Burt's Bees products are my new best friends. Especially useful is the Burt's Bees Hand Salve--they call it "the defender."
This is a great, great product. And so every night, after washing my face, I sit in front of the television slathering it on my poor, chapped, cracked hands. The Burt's Bees Lemon Cuticle Cream helps too. These products, though not expensive, are worth twice what they cost. (Ok, now I sound like an info-mercial for Burt's Bees, but it's a line of products that I truly believe in, especially for the Vermont winters.)The other thing that no one mentioned, and this isn't all bad, is that the sun rises about 7:30 and sets about 4:30. I know--we are past the solstice now, so the days are getting longer. But let me tell you, the nights are long, long, long. Some days I like that. There's something cozy about it. I love the idea (and even the reality) of letting a pot of soup simmer in the kitchen while I read and write. There's something almost romantic about holing up inside and drinking tea and doing all the solitary, intellectual, or creative things that I do. But psychologically, there's also something difficult about it. I generally like to get up very early in the morning. 5:30 isn't too early for me. But sometimes I wake up, start my morning routine, and think, "It won't be light for hours yet."
OK, so the other thing is contending with the ice and snow itself. In the past three weeks I've slipped and fallen on the ice twice. It's almost funny, because I did not hurt myself, but I live in fear of slipping, trying to break my fall, and in the process, breaking my wrist. Both times I slipped, I really wasn't wearing appropriate shoes. So there's another thing--before leaving the house, one has to think, "Do these shoes provide the traction necessary to coping with walking around outside?" Even taking the dogs out can be treacherous. In fact, one of the times I fell, I was taking the dogs out. Imagine me: in my jammies and a coat, wearing Birkenstock clogs, two boston terriers pulling in opposite directions on their leashes, me falling on a patch of ice.
Then some days, one needs to add an extra 15 minutes or so to travel time. The car has to warm up (that's assuming it starts; when it's 15 below, it's iffy). And warming up the car isn't that big of a deal. But scraping the ice off the windshield is. Brushing off snow, even inches of it, is a breeze. But scraping, scraping, scraping ice and frost is a pain. It takes longer than you think, and it's more physical work that I'd have realized. So there I am, dressed in a nice skirt, because I'm on my way to work and I do sometimes make an attempt to look professional, wearing my snow boots. I'm scraping away, as my boots are filling up with snow. Naturally, I'm wearing one of those fun winter hats, but my ears are still cold. I'm still scraping away. I'm wearing these super-industrial strength gloves, because I fear things like frost bite. Still scraping away, while the car warms up. Finally finished scraping, I open the car door, only to realize that when I opened it earlier to let the car warm up, snow has fallen into the car. It's on the floor, on the seat. At this point, I'm cold, there's snow in my shoes, my nose is pink with cold, and I'm so annoyed that I simply sit in the snow that has fallen onto the seat.
No one explained all this to me. I know that I should focus on the positives, and there are certainly positivies. I love wearing scarves and hats, especially scarves and hats that match. I love the excuse for crocheting scarves! I'm even learning to knit. I love the culinary possibilities: soup is so much more interesting when it's about 5 degrees out. I make chili about once a month, and it somehow tastes better than it did in California. Snow, unlike rain, is nearly silent. I love lying in bed at night and watching the snowfall out my window. It's like existing inside a snow globe. But some days, especially at 7:00am when I'm on my way to work, I just want to cry. Having a garage now seems like this amazing luxury.
Maybe the best part of it is that once mid-May arrives, I'll appreciate spring more than I ever did in California.
1 comment:
Ok, so the first winter Doug and I were married and we lived in Bowling Green, (Northeast Ohio has even more snow than where I grew up an hour south) I really saw his sunny Southern CA side. He tried to shovel an inch of snow off the driveway while it was still snowing. I told him the neighbors were going to make fun of him. Another time, there were all these beautiful snow drifts on the wood deck off the back of the house and he went out to shovel it all off! I guess he forgot we weren't going to be using the deck in the middle of winter. I miss snowdrifts and long, drippy icicles.
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