Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 09, 2007
I loved winter days when Joe and the kids would go off skiing, leaving me to make a big pot of soup and homemade bread, and to set up my rug frame. Or when we'd all don cross-country skis and ski the hayfield. Or when we went ice skating at the Dorflinger Wildlife Sanctuary. I didn't have Raynaud's Syndrome in those days, so I could do those things.
Winter storms didn't bother me because I didn't have to go anywhere and I knew that Joe would always keep us safe and warm. And he always did. If I needed help with one of the animals--feeding, walking, whatever--there was always someone to ask. I got a lot of satisfaction out of keeping the birds fed in difficult weather, and since we had no outside cats in those days I could feed the birds right on the porch.
After a storm, or even during one, Joe would be out with the snow thrower, making neat paths from the house to road, from the road to the barn, from the garage to the house. I rarely fell in those days, and if I did I got right up with damaging anything.Back then, power outages were an adventure. We had a computer and a TV, but weren't addicted to either yet. Without electricity, we could always play the piano. Our outages never lasted very long anyway, because Joe would fire up the generator.
I have a generator now, but have no clue how to use it. It isn't even winter yet as I write this, but already I'm tired of it. Tired of making paths with my feet, tired of being cold, tired of eight dog walks a day (two dogs x 4), tired of falling.
Joe and I always said we loved the change of seasons. These days I love the change only when it involves coming into spring, summer, or autumn. And even autumn is questionable.