This Time of Year

Well, I've got to start somewhere. And at this time of year, the main thing on my mind is keeping warm, so I suppose that's as good a place as any.

When Glen and I moved this summer, I was stunned to find that I personally own no less than 6 scarves, 5 hats, 8 pairs of gloves, two pair of snow boots, and three winter coats. I had an entire storage bin of winter accessories. (Practically my whole summer wardrobe fits in another one.) Even all geared up, I'm still always the coldest person in the room.

This Chicago winter has been brutal. We've had a ridiculous number of snowfalls, most of which have been immediately followed by arctic cold. Just when the cold lets up, it snows again, repeating the seemingly never-ending cycle. And it's not pretty. When the snow starts falling early in the season, you can't help but think how beautiful it looks - a nice little layer of soft, fluffy white stuff covering the city. Now, everywhere you look you see dirty, salty, rock-hard piles of nastiness. The temperature hasn't risen above freezing for more than a day or so in weeks, not nearly long enough to melt much of anything. What snow does disappear seems to do so by sublimation.

My car, once a lovely champagne color, is now the dull, ashen gray of a corpse. I can't wash it because it would just freeze all the windows and doors shut - not that I've opened a window in weeks, mind you. Yesterday evening when I looked out the window I couldn't tell if it had snowed again or if it was just the reflection of the salty crust that covers the parking lot and cars. (It was the salt.)

A few weeks ago I went to have my hair done. It had snowed overnight and into the morning, and I didn't think I'd be able to park at the salon, so I took the bus. I figured I'd be doing the Earth a favor and saving myself a headache. On my way home I got off the bus and, as soon as the bus pulled away, was immediately splattered by a snowplow. I marched straight inside, threw my clothes into the washer, started the fire, and poured myself a glass of wine.