No Shoveling Required

It takes everything I've got to leave my warm nest on these wretched winter mornings. I pull on an extra set of longjohns and a second pair of socks, snatch a flannel shirt to pull over my sweatshirt, find my knit hat, scarf, and gloves - it's what my ex-husband used to call my refugee look - and say a small prayer before I brave the outside world. There is nothing I hate more than the cold. Winter, even here in the south, is a cruel and unforgiving season, a time I would give most anything to miss. The most recent cold snap brought with it a malicious wind that reached clear to my bones and it's menacing voice could be heard everywhere. It came after several mild, windows-open days and I swear it was laughing.

It's hard to remember those childhood days of ice skating and snowmen in the front yard, of snowsuits with attached mittens and chillblains when we finally got to come in. My mother professed that winter built character and toughness – more likely, she wanted to be able to drink her icebox manhattans in peace and quiet – so we spent a good amount of time outside on snowy days. We built snow forts and had fierce snowball fights, went sledding at the edge of Spy Pond, scaled the drifts to be King of the Mountain. With no place we had to be and the promise of hot chocolate and sugar cookies if we stayed out our allotted time, we persevered. Foolish children that we were, we froze but we persevered util eventually we got back inside, hung up our wet jackets and soggy mittens, de-iced our boots and settled down in front of the fire to defrost ourselves. Sometimes the hot chocolate and sugar cookies actually materialized but they were never enough to make up for the hours of cold. Truth is, once you've seen one snowman, you've seen them all. The charm of winter is superficial and fleeting at best and like so many things, it faded with each step toward adulthood. I remember how cold the bus ride to school was and how drafty the classrooms were. Snow days were rare in New England and we prayed for them and dreaded them all at the same time.

Snow is a rarity down here in Dixie - we hardly ever get more than a dusting but the threat is enough to cause widespread panic and a run on the grocery stores before everything shuts down.

It could be worse, I remind myself on these raw mornings, at least you don't have to shovel cold.