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The winter solstice marks the
shortest day of the year. After that, the days begin to accumulate daylight
again. Which is good, I guess. It’s nice to know that one day we will be able
to see what the sun looks like without relying on pictures to remember
what Upstate New York is like when it’s not a frozen wasteland.
The question is, what difference
does it make?
It’s still going to be cold and
crappy and dark until we start hoarding daylight again in March. So, who cares
if every day we get a couple more minutes of precious light back? I can tell
you for a fact that my miserable ass is going to be hunkered down in my house,
cursing winter and the cold and the fact that I wasn’t born rich to escape to
my Pied-a-terre on a tropical island somewhere. I will lament that my family didn’t
choose to reside in Florida or California or Arizona… or anywhere else where “frostbite”
has to be Googled because they don’t know what it is. Sure, Florida has
alligators. But they are probably much smaller than the case of winter blahs
that I’m hauling around.
I really do think that the solution
to this problem would be to rearrange the calendar. We peak with Christmas at
the end of December and then have to suffer through 3 more months of gray and
white before we start to have a spark of hope again. So why don’t we push
Thanksgiving a few weeks to the second week of December and then move Christmas
to the end of January? Then we’ll roll into Valentine’s Day and Mid-winter
recess before partying with St. Pats in March. Before you know it, Spring Break
will be here, and we will have hope that our fingers and toes will defrost
soon.
See? It’s a much better flow.
As a win-win, it would extend the
length of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas so that peace, love, and
Christmas cookie bubble could last longer. I know that all those festive
Christmas decorations would brighten up all 97 days in January! For surviving
the longest month of the year, we’d get Christmas as our reward. Right now,
surviving January just brings February and bleak winter drama. No one dreams of
a white anything after December 25th and snow might be a little more
tolerable if we have dreams of a White Christmas dancing in our heads.
As a win-win-win, maybe my poor
husband would stop hearing me vehemently exclaim “I &^#%^* HATE winter!” 92
times a day. Ok, ok, that’s a lie. I’m still going to hate the cold no matter
if it’s Christmas, Elvis Presley’s birthday, or the second coming of
Christ. Cold just sucks. Not only the temperature, but the nasty sleet,
freezing rain, and snow that it travels with. Winter’s entourage is filled with
a bunch of sniveling, snot nosed jerks who love to make your nose simultaneously stuffy and runny.
It’s been weeks since my feet went
an entire day without feeling like they’re refrigerated and my naturally pale
skin hasn’t been exposed to sunlight in weeks. I’m practically translucent. I'm hitting record lack of pigment levels over here. So
if you’re looking for me anytime between January and April, look at the blanket
covered lump on the chaise lounge or huddled under the comforter in my bed.
Actually, I take that back. Don’t bother to look for me. I’m going into
hibernation.
I’ll see you when the Daffodils make an appearance.
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