January is coming to an end in a couple weeks, the first month of the new year.
It's been a wintry winter so far. According to the newspaper, last winter was the warmest on record for a long while here in the mid-eastern cornfields. This year, in contrast, we're having just plain winter--an old-fashioned winter.
I think for a moment of a December 7th when someone in my English class in high school blew up the dynamite shack located near the railroad to clear snowdrifts off the tracks--blew out windows of houses near the high school--can't imagine what a mess and how cold the residents were on an early winter morning. One of the high school photography instructors that I used to babysit for had magnificent hand-leaded colored glass windows overlooking the ocean. Seems like the railroad workers started locking those storage sheds or maybe, cleared them out after that.
Skiing with the Alpine Club across Ft. Richardson. Miles and miles cross-country. As a member of the high school cross-country team, we had to get in hundred of miles of practice during Christmas break. We wore rucksacks, for putting extra clothing we removed along the trip depending on windspeed, and carrying bottles of orange juice and water.
Clearing patches of ice along the marshy bogs near the Methodist Camp Road for sister to practice her figures. She was darn good.
Ice fishing. I was never involved. Dad and the boys out on Beach Lake--I referred to it as Leech Lake recalling the little hungry water slugs fastened to the underside of the canoe in summer. Brrr.
Later, when my husband and I stayed a year in Fargo, we'd pass by Detroit Lakes in Minnesota (or, was it North Dakota?) and see cars out on the lake, and I'd remember my sister's high school math teacher who raced Porsches on the ice up north.
We've had cold weather, stingingly cold, ice and snow, full moons surrounded with white mohair clouds and the gauzy veils of condensation lifting off in ribbons above the earth to slide up the craggy cottonwoods and oaks anchoring the fallow cornfields along the road on the way to work.
We've experienced the ailments allegedly associated with less exposure to sunlight, aching in bones, cold to the marrow, and the 'down' of accumulated darkness. Second son had his yearly bout with an upper respiratory virus--the kind that makes him snuffly, earachey, and requires extra time to rest and recover. Chicken bumps of chilliness as I sit sedentarily at the computer do not prompt me to get up to put on an extra sweater. I just want to close up shop early and crawl under chicken down covers.
The first of the seed catalogs arrived in the mail weeks ago. I've not taken the time to look it over, to start the imagining process, and consider what a white- blooming apple might do for lifting a mantle of melancholy, or a debate whether a new crop of colorful tulips would survive squirrels and chipmunks for more than one season. But, the time will come and will hungrily leaf through the colored pages. Daffodils are a sure bet. Springing forth from the earth in abundance soon after the magnolia out back blooms, long before the pawpaws are charged under my husband's tutelage to bear fruit as he hand-pollinates the dark purple blossoms.
Now, it is winter. There's still St. Patrick's, and Groundhog's Day and yes, what about those thank-you notes that remain unwritten, that might be slipped into red heart-shaped envelopes for Valentine's Day?
I used to not mind winter. Exercise to warm a body up in no time--walking, skiing, sledding. Our little dog when younger was crazy about snow and winter. But, now she's going on ten, or 70 in dog years. She's curled up like a shrimp, dreaming right now.
Winter used to be a time for planning and deliberately taking time. Making time. Knowing that time seemed to go a little slower in winter. Making sure to not get going too fast to avoid slipping on ice. Having to account for the extra time it took to put on double-layers of socks, long johns, sweaters, scarves, jackets...and detours to walking around unploughed snow and closed alleyways. Having to park oneself to finish the studying or the job, no flitting from indoors to out-of-doors, from one task to another.
I suppose winter is good for cogitation; unexciting for the unathletic and impatient. Still, the swimming pool will close in another hour and half; better get the suit on to go. The indoor natatorium is warmer this year. The new owners at the gym keep the temperature of the water higher and the ambient air seldom is a mass of fog when it's cold outside. --The pool has a cedar-lined sauna and hot tub nearby. Up body. Let's get going. Come on, now. One foot after another.
