This time last year, I would have said with all sue honesty, “this winter is killing me”. It was long, cold and stressful. This year we were given an early December that made it appear that winter would be short and mild. It was a ruse. It is mid February and we face an endless number of weeks with nighttime lows dropping to the minus fifteen levels (unsure what that is in the archaic F scale). We have had numerous snowfalls and I am finally starting to run out of places to put the snow. We received a seven hundred dollar heating bill which drove my wife into fits of sailor-like word spewing as we only ten months ago had a new furnace installed with a new heat pump somewhere in the order of $a-person-on-part time-wages.00 in cost.
To top it all off, I didn’t plant my garlic last fall, so no scapes this spring. I didn’t even have a vegetable garden last year. I don’t really know why, I just never got around to digging it out and planting, which was really odd as I had (this time last year) received about $50 worth of elaborate seeds from the online seed vendors.
Last summer was a blur and I admit fully it was my fault. I let it slip by like an autumn wind, because I was fixated on home renovations that I really had no part in other than watching from the sidelines and complaining that my wife didn’t procure the people in a standard “three quotations to a fixed term of work” method I would have. I griped as the furnace guys did nothing wrong. I complained quietly as the deck people did in fact screw up, show up late, mess up the approvals from the municipality, stop work, show up again weeks later and in the end not finish the job. I steamed as the kitchen took forever as I tried to work from home having to make decisions that I felt in no way shape or form able to make (as my wife was un-reachable and I didn’t want to be in trouble). I let it slip by, did not keep up with gardens, did not relax, did not play soccer, did not run as much as I should have, did not go to the gym in any reasonable pattern.
I hereto vow that as I watch things melt outside that this year will be different and I am already starting to work on such. I am reclaiming the basement from those who would store things in our home! I will re-fashion my basement gym and use it on nights or days I cannot find a way to Goodlife! I will run! I will continue to not play soccer because frankly my knees hate me, craven curs that they are. I will start my garden seeds in my little indoor planter things in a couple of weeks (granted, at this point I have NO CLUE when that will be) so that they can be transplanted outside into the garden I will TEND daily. I will tidy my decorative garden areas and my pond! I will put screenage up to keep bees and squirrels out of my attic! I will use my chainsaw in my woods and take care of all that recently fallen deadwood that needs management! I will do ANYTHING to make this summer more memorable and productive.
And I will write.
That little hobby has fallen to the wayside. I have started three novels, THREE, these past six months along with one screenplay for a war movie. They stare at me through the mask of their working titles from my desktop. I think I will put them in a folder so I cannot see them, BUT I WILL WORK ON THEM!
And I will fix my canoe.
And I will finally get my youngest riding his bike.
And I will teach my sons to do important MAN THINGS like starting fires and building shelters and making spoons from wood and building medieval weaponry.
But for now, I stew. I look outside and see frozen wasteland. I see windswept snow curling into tiny cold tornados, skipping across the barely plowed road. I see ducks arriving en-masse looking desperately for some open water to land in. I witness people striving to maintain a stoic façade, pretending to enjoy this everlasting frigid death.
Winter, I hate you.
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