Happy Winter Walkers
A great portion of the country is poised to experience the coldest Veterans' Day on record tomorrow. For Minnesotans, this simply means a somewhat early arrival of the inevitable.
Perhaps you heard the state chuckling on Halloween when parts of the Midwest, but not us, had a couple inches of snow rain on their Trick or Treat parades. Bwaaahaha, we chortled. Halloween Blizzard, 1991? That stayed on the ground until the spring, didn't melt a couple days later? Been there, done that.
Yes, Minnesotans are a hearty bunch when it comes to winter weather although, upon some questioning, you do discover that many a Minnesotan will confess to cocooning during the coldest months. Since retirement, we get a cord of fireplace wood in late October and it very well could be that I will burn through most of it before leaving for Florida at the end of January.
Regular readers, and Facebook followers, will know that I am a Flip Flop kinda girl rather that one who relishes the days I slip my feet into the Uggs. Let it be known that I try to like winter. I've tried since I was a child. I recall walking to the neighborhood park (Riis Park for you Chicagoans) to go ice skating or sled down the hill. I would bundle up: a couple pairs of socks followed by sliced bread bags over the feet to keep out as much moisture as possible. Long sleeved shirt, sweater or two. Heavy coat, scarf that my mother would tie as tightly as possible around my neck, then tuck it into the coat collar. Hat tied securely on my head. Standing at the front door, ready to leave, I'd look outside at the snow covered landscape and think how pretty, pristine it appeared. How could it be so evil? "Have fun," my mom would say, ushering me and my sisters out the door.
And about the time I got to the end of the block to cross the busy street (and then, if I remember correctly, 7 or 8 blocks to the park), my toes were already sending the SOS. Cold, cold, cold! they would bark. Turn back before it's too late. Even in these heavy boots (at least one size too big, if it was the beginning of the season, so they would last the winter), you can run or flop home. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Cold, COLD, COLD.
This message traveled next to my fingers so that by the time we reached the rink or the hill, I was a frozen mess. Crying only made it worse, as I seldom had tissues to blow my nose. Instead of focusing on the fun winter activities (which, I should add, Hallmark Christmas movies utilize to promote the romantic nature of the season where absolutely never is there a line in the script: I'm cold) or the beauty of nature wrapped in a veil of white, all I could think about was the hot bath I could convince my mother to draw for me in the middle of the day when I finally arrived home, face frozen, scarf covered with tears and snot, crying, "I'm so cold!"
Occasionally I'll still give it the old college try, especially when it's a gently falling snow and the wind isn't blowing, usually incented by seeing Happy Winter Walkers out for their daily stroll in our neighborhood. My goodness, sometimes they're even mitten in mitten or arm in arm. Reminding myself that the composition of winter gear has improved at least a hundred times over from Wonder Bread bags on the feet, I'll don the Minnesota requisite sleeping bag resembling winter coat, Thinsulate lined gloves covered by Thinsulate lined mittens, scarf that wraps around the neck at least twice, Love Your Melon hat, pull up the fake fur lined hood, wool socks, Uggs, get down to the bottom of the driveway. Now I know about visualization and meditation and deep breathing; don't focus on how your toes in these really cute mint green Uggs with little daisy like flowers on them are already screeching, "COLD!" Or how the double wrapped fingertips are bellowing, "YOU PROBABLY HAVE ARTHRITIS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK BELOW ZERO IS GOOD FOR THAT?" And then I'll hear my dad, he for whom exercise was the way of Satan, commenting negatively on the joggers he would see from his Michigan Avenue office window trotting through Grant Park. That couldn't possibly be good for you, Dad said. When I replied that, in fact, research was indicating that regular exercise would not send you straight to hell upon demise, he was insistent that the researchers were wrong. "I've seen those guys when they're running, " Dad insisted. "They look miserable. Have you ever seen a happy jogger?"
Aha. Have I ever, really, truly seen a Happy Winter Walker? They're holding hands or arm in arm to keep from slipping, falling and breaking a hip on the ice. They're hunched into those faux sleeping bags, shoulder buried up to their earlobes. When you pass them, all you can see is their eyes, if you're lucky. They're gutting it out until they get home and slip into the hot bath.
Happy Winter Walkers, you and I simply do not share the same constitution. I salute you. Come see me in Florida this winter. The sun isn't that hot and yes, you can leave your flip flops at the edge of the sand because the bottom of your feet won't burn off. And there's nothing quite like the sunset cocktail which you can be relatively well assured the weather will not impede during your visit. Viva la difference!
Perhaps you heard the state chuckling on Halloween when parts of the Midwest, but not us, had a couple inches of snow rain on their Trick or Treat parades. Bwaaahaha, we chortled. Halloween Blizzard, 1991? That stayed on the ground until the spring, didn't melt a couple days later? Been there, done that.
Yes, Minnesotans are a hearty bunch when it comes to winter weather although, upon some questioning, you do discover that many a Minnesotan will confess to cocooning during the coldest months. Since retirement, we get a cord of fireplace wood in late October and it very well could be that I will burn through most of it before leaving for Florida at the end of January.
Regular readers, and Facebook followers, will know that I am a Flip Flop kinda girl rather that one who relishes the days I slip my feet into the Uggs. Let it be known that I try to like winter. I've tried since I was a child. I recall walking to the neighborhood park (Riis Park for you Chicagoans) to go ice skating or sled down the hill. I would bundle up: a couple pairs of socks followed by sliced bread bags over the feet to keep out as much moisture as possible. Long sleeved shirt, sweater or two. Heavy coat, scarf that my mother would tie as tightly as possible around my neck, then tuck it into the coat collar. Hat tied securely on my head. Standing at the front door, ready to leave, I'd look outside at the snow covered landscape and think how pretty, pristine it appeared. How could it be so evil? "Have fun," my mom would say, ushering me and my sisters out the door.
And about the time I got to the end of the block to cross the busy street (and then, if I remember correctly, 7 or 8 blocks to the park), my toes were already sending the SOS. Cold, cold, cold! they would bark. Turn back before it's too late. Even in these heavy boots (at least one size too big, if it was the beginning of the season, so they would last the winter), you can run or flop home. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Cold, COLD, COLD.
This message traveled next to my fingers so that by the time we reached the rink or the hill, I was a frozen mess. Crying only made it worse, as I seldom had tissues to blow my nose. Instead of focusing on the fun winter activities (which, I should add, Hallmark Christmas movies utilize to promote the romantic nature of the season where absolutely never is there a line in the script: I'm cold) or the beauty of nature wrapped in a veil of white, all I could think about was the hot bath I could convince my mother to draw for me in the middle of the day when I finally arrived home, face frozen, scarf covered with tears and snot, crying, "I'm so cold!"
Occasionally I'll still give it the old college try, especially when it's a gently falling snow and the wind isn't blowing, usually incented by seeing Happy Winter Walkers out for their daily stroll in our neighborhood. My goodness, sometimes they're even mitten in mitten or arm in arm. Reminding myself that the composition of winter gear has improved at least a hundred times over from Wonder Bread bags on the feet, I'll don the Minnesota requisite sleeping bag resembling winter coat, Thinsulate lined gloves covered by Thinsulate lined mittens, scarf that wraps around the neck at least twice, Love Your Melon hat, pull up the fake fur lined hood, wool socks, Uggs, get down to the bottom of the driveway. Now I know about visualization and meditation and deep breathing; don't focus on how your toes in these really cute mint green Uggs with little daisy like flowers on them are already screeching, "COLD!" Or how the double wrapped fingertips are bellowing, "YOU PROBABLY HAVE ARTHRITIS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK BELOW ZERO IS GOOD FOR THAT?" And then I'll hear my dad, he for whom exercise was the way of Satan, commenting negatively on the joggers he would see from his Michigan Avenue office window trotting through Grant Park. That couldn't possibly be good for you, Dad said. When I replied that, in fact, research was indicating that regular exercise would not send you straight to hell upon demise, he was insistent that the researchers were wrong. "I've seen those guys when they're running, " Dad insisted. "They look miserable. Have you ever seen a happy jogger?"
Aha. Have I ever, really, truly seen a Happy Winter Walker? They're holding hands or arm in arm to keep from slipping, falling and breaking a hip on the ice. They're hunched into those faux sleeping bags, shoulder buried up to their earlobes. When you pass them, all you can see is their eyes, if you're lucky. They're gutting it out until they get home and slip into the hot bath.
Happy Winter Walkers, you and I simply do not share the same constitution. I salute you. Come see me in Florida this winter. The sun isn't that hot and yes, you can leave your flip flops at the edge of the sand because the bottom of your feet won't burn off. And there's nothing quite like the sunset cocktail which you can be relatively well assured the weather will not impede during your visit. Viva la difference!
for a yuck, enlarge this photo to see the grimaces on our faces
"We love winter festivities!"
Not shown: cocktail in hand, saluting the sun
"Thank you, God, for the ocean."
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