Overall, I love winter. I love skiing, ice skating and sled riding. It’s a season of soup and cocoa and heat from a fire. I don’t even mind bundling up with coats and scarves (I’ve actually managed to keep track of the same pair of gloves all season. I think I’m finally an adult).
But at this point, a lot of winter’s charm has worn off. Crumbling, brown snow mounds are refusing to melt. My car is covered with white residue and its lift gate has been frozen shut for a week. All of my shoes have chalky white marks on them from dried, salty slush.
In addition to the snow, everything around me seems to be following suit and entering into a dingy winter-mode. My brain is feeling sluggish and my nail polish seems to chip after 6 hours. Monday I spent the day with black marker on my face. Today I found a giant spot of hot sauce on the hem of my jeans. It’s unfair to peg these things on winter, but what can I say — I’m ready for spring.
Today I woke up and knew it would take an intentional attitude shift to get me through February. So this morning I stopped cleaning off my car mid-scrape. I leaned closer to the window and studied the frozen feathered edges of the snowflakes there. Eventually I got in my car, and as I drove, I noticed the way mailboxes and evergreens held up small heaps of snow. “Snow-capped” I kept thinking to myself. “That’s why they call mountains and nonpareils chocolate chips, ‘Snowcaps.'” This afternoon I had down time between jobs, and I went on a mini snow walk and took some pictures. I saw a billion birds using the feeders in our yard and maybe it’s my imagination, but it seemed like they were working as a team. I’ve been looking at the impressive icicles lining houses and the ice covered tree branches, and it helps me ignore the icy parking lots I’ve been slipping all over lately.
So far the perspective change is helping, and I’m re-appreciating the winter wonderland we’re stuck in. Here’s to a less-dreary second half of winter!
Plays and musicals are usually shorter in the second half, so I’m crossing my fingers that winter extends us the same courtesy.