I Really Don’t Like Winter Anymore

It hasn’t even really started yet, yet already my mood has changed.  I don’t laugh as readily and I walk around with a sourpuss clenching my coat like a baby blanket.  If it’s winter, I want snow.  It’s December 1st and yesterday I was basically wearing a sweatshirt.  What’s this faux-winter shit?  g l o b a l   w a r m i n g.

My birthday is this Friday.  At my twelfth birthday party, as I waited patiently for my guests to arrive to no avail, I realized that the snowstorm would only bring one brave soul to me.  I doubt we will have any snow this year.

I spent this Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania at my parent’s homestead.  I left the house only a handful of times and to move from the kitchen table to car seat to couch and back again because it was so bone-breakingly cold.  I am someone who usually walks 5 miles to work every other day because my beast legs need their fill, yet not in FauxWinter.  There’s no snow to crunch through and no balls to make.  It’s just cold, damp, and dry.  Where’s the white stuff!!

I fondly recall the Blizzard of ’93, where our yellow lab puppy, Snowball, ecstatically plummeted down the front steps of our yard and then disappeared from sight, only to re-emerge gasping for breath and trying to scramble up the hood of a car.  The snow was well over his head... because we had FEET, BABY, FEET!

After high school, I departed from home for Syracuse, New York for college.  This new home was also home to a variety of blizzards, snow squalls, deadly icicles that hung like sharpened knives from roofs and blustering curse-filled days, and also a great place to try out every imaginative method of body-covering possible.  I bought soccer cleats at a thrift shop to endure the icy ground without slipping, I donned a bright orange hunting suit once or twice to arrive at my destination (class) in one piece and drove in 4WD more often than not.  We, undergrads, regularly grew used to arriving at parties in irrecognizable getups with icicle snot and frozen water beards.  Upon removing said garb, the host would exclaim, “Oh! It’s you, Desira!”, and I would remove four bottles of beer from a sock in down-filled pant leg.  Once, I remember leaving a party, planting a beer in the snow in front of the party house, and moving on.  The next night, while walking with friends to another party, I urged my friend Amelia to dig around in the snow “right there” to find a surprise.  She thereafter dug, and removed the can in great surprise…  A class older than us even got snow on their graduation day… in May.

My friend Lary and I climbed up the 90 degree angled hill which housed Crouse Hall, to slide down its embankment to our near deaths one year.  I also once sledded down the several hundred feet long roof of the staircase going up to the Day and Flint dorms.  When the weather really warmed up, students would celebrate with picnics in the grass, bikini wearing, and boomboxes, even though “really warming up” meant no discernable snow and a thermometer reading of 48.  Christmases entailed piling the family into my dad’s duel-wheeled diesel truck and putting it in neutral while coasting down hills en route to my uncle’s house in the boonies.  Christmas meant snow.

Those were the days!!!  I feel terribly for the younger generations who are not only not taught to write because of the ready use of computers (How will they ever write messages in the snow!) but who also might not experience WINTER at it’s finest.  These days snow days are for wimps who can’t drive in a flurry-filled sky.  Tis truly sad.

…With winter approaching and as the sun sets much earlier and the chill gets much brisker, I change.  I morph into the hulk with the changing winds knowing this isn’t going to be the fun-filled winter of my youth.  Maybe I should move to California as soon as it hits…

…………………….OR …………………………..

and while googling “horrible NYC winter”, this image came up, which is rather charming…


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