Colder than…
The cover of my last book seems seasonally appropriate.
I am a husky, Slavic gentleman of a certain age. Not surprisingly I am not a fan of the summer months. The heat and humidity conspire against me, leaving me feeling like Superman when under the rays of the red sun or too close to Kryptonite. In fact the only good thing that I can say about the heat in Iraq was that it was a dry heat. You can keep the sandstorms though.
I like fall and winter best. I’ve said here and in other things I’ve written. As a kid we’d go up to my maternal grandparents in central Vermont in the winter. Their house was built into a hill and the backyard was the best downhill sled run I ever experienced. There were higher hills but this one required an almost 180 degree turn at the bottom. Not making that turn (or bailing out in time) meant going over a small berm. Hence the scar below my lower lip.
The first few years we lived in our house we had a few winters that socked us in with snow. Remember the Ice Dams of the early teens? In our second winter, my wife took pity on me and bought me a small, electric snowblower. It last three seasons before winters in New England killed it. Those were the winters where my driveway ended up being more of a snow trench with six foot high walls on either side.
The last few winters have been mild. Blame El Nino or Climate Change or all of it. The last two winters, the faithful, orange Husqvarna snow blower (a gift from Andy Roark) was only needed twice. No six foot snow walls and mild temperatures were the norm.
This past weekend it snowed. On MLK day I cleared the driveway, and then the sidewalk in front of our house and my neighbor’s house. It felt good to go inside after an hour in the 20 degree chill and get a cup of coffee.
The last two mornings it’s been frigid. 1 Degree yesterday and negative 1 this morning while my oldest son went out to wait for his bus. He’s a Freshmen in High School now and the bus comes at an ungodly hour. Almost Army early. By the time I went to leave for work it was in the single digits, low single digits, both days.
My car wouldn’t start, battery dying quickly. Fortunately my Long Suffering Wife’s car was near and it didn’t take long to jump my car. It’s my fault. I’ve know that the battery needs to be replaced for a couple of months now. It didn’t take much to get my car started.
By the time I was part way to work on my shortish commute that always seems to take half an hour whether it needs to or not, I could feel the tips of my fingers again. While I might be tempted to complain about the cold or the car not starting the truth is that I don’t mind.
I lead a good, if not comfortable life. I also live in New England and remember walking to school in weather like this or freezing waiting for the chartered city bus (a Providence thing) to whisk me to school. Clearing the snow, shoveling or dealing with a car, in the frigid weather isn’t horrible. In fact it’s nice to be reminded that life still offers some small challenges. Some might say, that’s just part of living in New England. I know that I would.