Snow My God ~ Or How I Learned to Tolerate Winter

This is the parking lot of the popular Mexican restaurant about 150 yards
from our house. It's open for business, with nary a car in the lot. Also,
this is where Hashtag famously enjoyed several margaritas.

As a kid, winter was fun and I was the jackass kid in the neighborhood who always had too little clothing on. A neighbor famously told my Mom that she looked at what I was wearing out at the school bus stop, then put double that amount of clothing on her kids.

A lot has changed since I went sledding wearing only jeans and a sweatshirt (Temps were only in the 20s! C'mon, we're Minnesota Tough here.) Not the least change is the Reynaud's Syndrome which I have a moderate case of.
Goodbye, friends.

My fingers and toes go numb at the hint of cold. This isn't because of anything physically wrong with me; it's because my brain can't figure out how cold it is. The brain just assumes any temperature below 70 is near freezing. The result is my digits go white-numb if they sit out in 68 degree temperatures.

This has hampered my interest in winter.

Yes, skiing is probably my favorite thing to do in any season. But after three runs, I have to take a 45-minute break to get all the digits warm. If you ever want to feel like a wimp, ask for a coffee break after three runs on a gorgeous powder day.

In the North, fall comes with a sense of dread. Sure, it's nice in early October. But the road salt is going to be an inch thick in a month or two. You can't golf, you can't run, you can't go for pleasant walks. Mostly, I look up depressing weather facts. Our earliest sunset of the year comes in mid-December, at 4:04 p.m. The average high in Portland in mid January is 32. In San Diego, the average high for every day for the entire month of January is 65.

The mood in our household was pretty glum in late October. OK, it was my mood. The Wife loves this time of year. Presents! Wrapping! Wrapping Presents! Present Wrapping Parties! Watching Love Actually! Making hot drinks and cozying up on the couch! Christmas Toasters! The Husband does not share this enthusiasm.

The trouble is twofold: Our spring, summer and fall were simply fantastic. Hashtag and Poundsign# destroyed me at pegs and aces and yakked in Minnesota accents. My Aunt Flo came to visit for a few days; we had a nice time going to The Black Crowes and eating our way through Portland. Dolly (Our nickname for Nacho Man and Molly Lu) and Jamy (TW and I's nickname) made regular appearances at brunches, disc golfing, card playing and The Little Tap House.

Home.
Put simply, I don't want all that to end. But after 16 sets (!) of visitors, we have nobody on our calendar for a fly-in visit. Dolly assures us we can be friends in winter, though.

I need something to look forward to. While I am open to suggestions – no, Mom, I'm not volunteering – I have an idea. How about I man up and write a book? It's not like I won't have any time to work on it, plus Hemmingway proved you can drink and win Pulitzers. Ideas have been stewing for years and maybe a writing project will give me some focus this winter. I haven't been blogging much because we've been so busy. That manic schedule is coming to a quick end.

This is a win-win for America and myself, except for the liver, whose objections have been vetoed by every other body part. Especially the ones that want to stay warm inside the house.

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