Mid-February in year 10

In my attempt to capture the glassiness of the clear dripping icicles this morning long after sunrise, I felt the nip of arctic chill. I could see the brightness of winter sun shining, glaring in the clear-glass ice, but like a sundog, only the ultraviolet rays bouncing off atmospheric crystals suspended in the stratospher, there was only light, no warmth. (This is the kind of day when Hans Christian Anderson's "Little Match Girl" freezes to death outside the plum bun shop in Tromso.)

Growing up in the far north country, in my mind I return to a 15-20 mile cross-country ski trip with the Nordic Ski Club from Eagle River passing by Ft. Rich and Elmendorf AFB to Russian Jack Springs. Cold nipped then, it bit, it snuck under the top layers and penetrated the dermis, and whatever skin was exposed had to be continually oxygenated by warm moving blood or turned pale and without feeling. But, several miles along, and the outer layers had to come off for a breather, at least!

The last time I was back during winter was a winter vacation the boys and I stayed alternately with the folks in Rosemary for Remembering Christmas, and the time before that was when sister Sov died of exposure on a mid-winter climb. I went back home for the funeral with Shimp, her godson and cried every day. My husband had opinions, he always has opinions, but he was gentle this time and told me to try and not let Shimp see me so distressed and breaking down, because our boy is sensitive and it would affect him negatively and make him weak. I spent a lot of time with my head in the pillow while he was out, the first grandkid, helping understand the grief of his grandparents.

Well, it was cold today, just like February can be at Fur Rendezvous time, except generally when we were kids, we dressed for the bone-chilling weather, but here in the mid-eastern cornfields, this type of cold weather is not anticipated year after year, and I lief as soon throw on a jacket and wrap the scarf around my neck but forget a hat, and crunch in the snow in street shoes. But, unlike years in which we saw only the tan of dead grass in the yard, this was a cold year, and my husband confirmed that he saw Bambi's hoofprints when she came up from the ravine to cross our yard in the back.

When I sat down at the computer on nights earlier in winter my hands would feel like little chunks of ice. So cold. I tried to double up on the levothyroxine sometimes, thinking I'd missed a dose or maybe my metabolism was slowing, going into hibernation mode with the sunlight deficit.

I had a few plans to begin the year; plan a trip with Shimp, and possibly Jonnio, make sure husband had his visa and passport renewed so he could visit Mama-san, finish an account of our last trip, work on pharmacotherapy certification in an area of unfamiliarity, as well as organize and re-arrange our lives by swimming every day, concentrating on meals of unprocessed foods, and working to earn more money.

Well, the organisation idea took precedence, and so far, there have been a few items that have left the house in boxes for recycling, to the newsprint and aluminum can waste facility, to Goodwill, the flowershop recycles vases and could use about eight that overfilled a closet, a fish tank and filter to a school, magazines and the short pencil collection to the donation center at the public library, etc. It's been rather fun to plan a recycling run and drop off items here and there. Sometimes, it doesn't look like much has been accomplished, but with me the most of it is the organizing everything that needs to go together in one spot.

I've been trying to become more involved in the local community, too, outside my professional interests. But, I expect sometime later this summer, an opportunity will arise in which I volunteer with the county disaster readiness organization (just please, don't ask me to obtain credentials in immunizations..., just yet.)

A Church group asked just before Christmas about participating in the annual medical mission to Haiti in February, and on such short notice, I considered it and bowed out for this year, then they didn't end up going in February because it would have meant crossing the Dominican Republic by bus, and no place to stay, etc. so decided to go a little later when things are more settled. By then, I may have saved up the airfare and living expenses and received the requisite malaria and Hepatitis A. With my training and employment I've received most series, and I did get a Hep A, but doubt if I had the 6-12 month booster. I heard dengue fever was a problem, but saw no mention at a WHO website, so just will go to the local international travel clinic, a month ahead of time.

I saw big packets of flower seeds in the garden section at the supermarket. February is when thoughts turn to love, and planning for a garden. I've received several bulb, corm, and seed catalogues; Breck's among them. I like to look at them for dreaming. The reality is often a hurried chilly night in October, with the outdoor patio lighting only as I cut little holes in the compacted soil at the end of the garden and struggle to open tough plastic bags with blue flag and daffodil bulbs. And, oftentimes the reality in springtime is looking over at the edge of the ravine to where the bright yellow of my daffodils should be appearing and cursing the squirrels that seem to have found the tasty supply in fall.

Mid-February in my youth was often when Mother was baking George Washington cherry cupcakes for sibling school parties, and I was at home miserable with an earache or strep throat, staring at the hoarfrost, and gazing at long shadows on the evening wall. Cold. Nose-dripping damp. The sounds of low-volume talk radio (back then there was no MIGHTY MEGAPHONE RUSH yelling out the radio), humming and sizzle of heaters and humidifiers, and a tuck-in for warmth at night. Fur Rondy, and Arctic Winter Games, Orange Julius, and dreaming of warmer days. Remembering warmth of family times.