Sunday, December 09, 2007

I Used to Like Winter

I used to like a lot of things about winter. I loved putting my babies in blanket sleepers and tucking them into bed. Winter brought Christmas--a big, fragrant tree with piles of presents around it, and three eager, curious children who picked up the gifts one by to read the tag and cautiously give the box a shake or two.

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.


crystal said...

Hi Susan,

I feel the same way, though I don't have to worry about my fingers and toes as you do. The house seems empty without my other cats and my mom.

I'm thinking of you and your sensory digits :-) and though it doesn't help much, Kermit and I are celebrating with you virtually.

Helen said...

Have you ever considered moving Susan? I know it's maybe not really about winter, but still, life in the country in winter is hard on one's own.

Indigo Bunting said...

I love the evocativeness of this.

Your Raynaud's must be worse than mine, although mine can get bad. I still love to x-country ski, but I have to get moving right away, fast, or I'm in trouble.

Susan said...

Hello, everyone! My fingers are a mess, and winter hasn't even officially begun! I actually have a sore on the inside of my ring finger from my teacup handle. Apparently the handle is cold in the morning. I'm anticipating a bad Raynaud's year--not that the previous years were all that good, having lost quite a few fingernails from the cold.

Helen, if my son weren't here so often, and so helpful, I'd be forced to move. As it is, I love this property, as Jill did, and don't ever want to leave where she lived. It may come to that some day, but I hope it doesn't.

IB, it's lovely to see your name here.

Indigo Bunting said...

Susan: I'm so sorry to hear your Raynaud's is this bad. I'll count my blessings while I can. And I'm truly trying to get back to blog world. It's been very hard lately, for some reason...

Deloney said...

Susan: we should move to Hawaii. You can wear a mau-mau and I'll sing Don Ho songs all day.

(Thanks for the Christmas card. I now have a total of THREE!)

Susan said...

IB, keep trying! I'll hold you to that.

Del, you need to start hanging with people who like to lick envelopes.

(ONLY KIDDING!! That sounds so yucky.)

crystal said...

Merry Christmas, Susan and Wolfy and Pogo and Annie :-)

Susan said...

Thank you, Crystal. And obviously I haven't mentioned Princeton and Angel lately. And Mickey, the last remaining barn cat. Quelle oversight! :-)