winter Archives %- – Rock The Wrinkle

Winter has an inferiority complex—and I think we’re to blame.

We complain a lot about winter. As baby boomers and beyond, we grumble about how the cold air makes our bones ache. Dries out our skin. Causes us to shiver on the bus stop or while walking our dog.

We don’t want to drive in it. Or sit outdoors at a sporting event and be uncomfortable.

Winter gets in our way. Slows us down. Simplifies everything.

Hey wait…maybe that’s a good thing?

There’s nothing like 15 degrees, a strong north wind, and a little sleet to force you to take stock. Are you prepared? Do you have what you need to survive? Are you making wise decisions so you literally can stay alive?

And going a bit deeper….are you living your life the way you hoped?

I confess I can grow weary of shoveling snow and slushing around in heavy boots and multiple layers of cold. But I also relish the amazing beauty of this season.

As children, we loved to make snowmen, ride sleds, build forts and attack unsuspecting adults with a barrage of snowballs. (When I was a senior in college, we did this to the professors leaving the journalism building—they were not amused).

Now, I marvel how the snow can sparkle like diamonds. How snow-capped hills shine brilliantly against an unbelievably blue sky. How the crisp air awakens every part of me every time I go outdoors.

Just look at your pets. At least in my house, my dog delights in the snow with a joy that takes me back to that giddy feeling of school being canceled and a warm kitchen.

Instead of seeing winter as a time of decay and death, consider the blanket of beauty that winter can bring to nature. Think of Walt Whitman’s “unseen buds, infinite and waiting”. The ice-covered ponds. How snow lands on each tree branch and defines it with exquisite detail.

“The life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam.” (Words of John Burroughs.)

Garrison Keillor of A Prairie Home Companion once commented how “winter gives us purpose.” I like that. I like a season that reminds us who is in charge, and that we are left with ourselves.

Maybe as people aged 50 and better we can really understand that winter can be hard, but it will pass. Winter’s dreary nature doesn’t last forever. It might not even last a day. And doesn’t the cold make it easier to draw closer together? To snuggle against what is out there, or what might be coming?

And winter is a perfect time to stop and think about those who truly face the challenges of the dropping temperatures…the homeless, the frail, the forgotten. Those who have no shelter from the storm. Who sit by the shops with their empty cup and watch us come and go.

We know their struggle is real, because many of our parents and relatives lived through the Great Depression and had very little. We understand how hard it can be. And we can help.

Wrap yourself up this winter, but not so tight that you cannot take in all that is happening around you. Seasons change. We grow older. And life renews itself again.

“Winter is the kind of showman,

Turning tree stumps into snowmen

And houses into birthday cakes

And spreading sugar over lakes.

Smooth and clean and frosty white,

The world looks good enough to bite.

That’s the season to be young,

Catching snowflakes on your tongue.

Snow is snowy when it’s snowing,

I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.”

Ogden Nash

Shoveling snow. An activity that truly brings you up close and personal to Nature and all she wants to share with us, especially if you’re a baby boomer and it’s tough on your back.

Where I live now, there’s winter snow….dry, powdery, mercifully light on your arms and shoulders. A good thing especially when your driveway is sloped and your shoes don’t have the best traction.

And then there’s the spring snow…sometime during February or March, the snow becomes wetter and heavier. Everyone will tell you how great spring snow is because it doesn’t stay around long. The roads and grassy areas are warm and it melts quickly. Oh yippee.

But you’re still shoveling.

And shoveling. And shoveling.

Because around here, it can easily snow through May, which it did last year. Thick, wet and heavy, it was very unkind to trees and shrubs that foolishly had thought the coast was clear and already had begun to bloom. Not only was I outside with a rake, jabbing it upwards into trees trying to shake snow off struggling limbs (and getting most of the snow in my face), I was leaning out upstairs windows with broom handles jabbing at the tops of trees that were perilously leaning over.

All in all, it’s exhausting. And I know everyone living in the Northeast U.S. is well over it all.

Of course, they sell “ergonomic” snow shovels, which can be a blessing when your back is worn out from it all. Then there are the snow blowers, which your neighbor often owns, but this neighbor never seems to get outside to use it early enough so you still end up doing your driveway the old-fashioned way.

I remember my father shoveling what seemed to be endless snow when I was a child. No one on our street had any blowers and he probably wouldn’t have let them come over anyway. He was going to do it himself, without resting. Which looking back, wasn’t very smart health-wise.

As we get older it’s okay to do things in short spurts. It’s even more okay to let someone else do it for us. Kindness is a gift, not a statement of age. We’ve done enough of it to last a lifetime—let someone else have a turn. It’s not worth risking back injury, heart attack, or slipping on an icy surface.

Maybe that’s one of the big lessons of winter: putting our well-earned wisdom to work to take care of ourselves.

Maybe another lesson is sitting with ourselves and seeing if we can be quiet, inside, and still sane…even after the days go by. Not easy. I can get cabin fever quickly, which triggers food cravings far stranger than a healthy person could imagine. It’s all part of that don’t-fence-me-in thing: I’m okay being at home, until I am forced to be at home, then I want to be somewhere else.

Snowfall used to be so much fun when we were kids. It still is to my dog, (though the hair on her feet freezes and we have to dig ice balls from between her toes). I confess it’s lost its luster for me, especially if I have to drive in it. Still, it is often beautiful…especially the next day, (if you’re lucky enough to live where it usually doesn’t snow for days on-end), when it’s just on the tops of the hills, or tip-tops of far-away mountains, and the sky is a breathtaking shade of blue, and the sun makes the snowy ground dazzle like diamonds….

If you’re shoveling, be careful. Be wise. Be patient.

It’s gotta end sometime.