Saturday, 6 February 2010
Usually I can take just about anything winter throws at me: snowstorms that cancel all travel, from trips to the city to the weekly grocery shopping; high winds that pummel Someday farm and threaten to rip the screen door off its hinges; mountains of white stuff that jam the garage doors shut and make walking to get the mail akin to an Arctic adventure. I've always loved winter. But this year, the nose-numbing cold's been getting to me.
Take today, for instance. -15 with a wind chill of -22. I know it's not as bad as Winterpeg or one of those other Godforsaken provinces where a -20 day is the norm, even without a breeze. But for some reason, the cold this week has seeped into my almost-forty-year-old bones and stayed there. I don't even want to go onto the back porch to let the dog outside, because it means walking into the icy room and spending five minutes shoving poor Nekes out the door with my foot while the wind mercilessly blasts us both. Even putting on my boots on sends a pang of cold up my leg and directly into my spine, in no small part because the snow hasn't even had a chance to melt off them from the last time I wore them outside.
The cold never used to bother me; I dressed in layers, invested in good long-johns, a decent hat, excellent mitts and sucked it up. I'd sneer at the wimps who would rush into the grocery store or the bank, rubbing their chapped fingers together and exclaiming how AWFUL the cold was. I'd note with disdain that half the people who complained about the cold didn't wear hats, gloves or scarves; well, duh.
But now I'm becoming one of those whingy souls who can't s-s-s-top sh-sh-shivering. What is up with that? Do I need to add another layer of fat to my body? Drink more alcohol to stay warm? Invest in fleece underwear? Cause I can definitely take those measures. I'm just not convinced they're gonna keep the chills away. Brrrr.