Old Man Winter and Me

Today had an ominous feeling to it, as though winter were hiding around a corner like one of the Spy vs. Spy characters. The Dark Spy actually.

For the last week it has been unseasonably warm in Owensboro, and everyone has been talking about it as if we are operating on borrowed time - as though we were all children and our parents had dropped us off at the mall with $20 but told us they would be back to get us in five minutes. Temporarily we are turned loose to enjoy all, but our joy quickly sours when we realize time is not on our side.

I guess there is this unspoken assumption in the Midwest that all good things must come to an end eventually, which partly explains everyone’s mixed emotions about the good weather. Everyone was happy to talk about it, but there was this unspoken fear permeating the conversation. People know what lies on the other side of seventy-degree days in November. There is a cost to be paid for such blessings – specifically freezing rain and grey in fifty tones come late December.

Winter is a reality Anna and I are becoming accustomed to again, and truthfully it makes me nervous. I got into a conversation with someone the other day about the dreariness of February in particular, the long, empty days of winter when the sun seems more of a myth than a reality. She said that it’s all she can do to make it through the month. Another person said they just plan on doing some major project around the house during February, turn on all the lights and play inspiring music – good for the soul, terrible for the electric bill. But, I totally understood. I’m already trying to plan for how I will get through this winter, as though I need to prepare for a nuclear winter rather than just a normal season.

But winter isn’t just another season. That’s my point. As far as seasons go winter is the only one I can remember that is personified, and for good reason. You don’t hear people talking about Young Lady Spring or Wise Father Fall (which would good fun now that I think of it), but Old Man Winter is a different. Old Man Winter – what with his icy-blue, buffed up cheeks and hair like icicles – is a first cousin of the Grim Reaper. He seems to stalk more than walk. And if Old Man Winter does walk he inevitably just stirs up big drafts of cold air and perhaps a few snowdrifts with his long, white robe.

When Old Man Winter first comes around, people don’t really care much. They’re too caught up in another old man – the jolly fat-guy full of warmth: Santa. But as soon as Santa high-tails it up to the North Pole, there isn’t any more warmth to carry us through.

Perhaps I am treating Old Man Winter too harshly though. Maybe I’m giving Santa all the perks and Old Man Winter the short end of the stick. Russians, after all, believe that Old Man Winter, known as Morozko, is the very same Santa. But, then again, many Russians live in places like Siberia, and if you don’t make friends with winter, there really isn’t much to live for.

I, on the other hand, haven’t weathered twenty-degree weather for more than twenty-four hours the last four years. The only time I saw snow last winter was when I drove into and out of the Rockies. We slept in a warm hotel room, had breakfast with Drew, Anna’s brother, snapped a few pics for memories outside in the parking lot, and that was it.

This year, though, there won’t be any escaping it. There will be icy puddles, and salt on sidewalks. There will be scrappers for windshields, layers for warmth, and slush on streets.

Yeah, like I said, winter seems to be hiding around the corner tonight as the rain becomes heavy and the air becomes stiff - just like the Dark Spy, ready to unload a lethal trick upon my unprepared self. Go easy on me this year Old Man Winter. I can’t take much. I’m still use to palm trees and endless sunshine in January. And, if you get a chance, you might want to say hello to Friendly Brother Summer. I know you two haven’t ever hit it off, but I’m telling you, people tend to enjoy him all year round. I can’t say the same for you.

Wes