Inspired by the recent snowfall and power outage, coupled with my impending birthday, I have become a bit reflective. I now realize a few crucial points about the person I am – in the cold weather…
I may love watching Little House on the Prairie - but I do not in any way want to live like Laura Ingalls in the 21st Century. I like my heat cranked up, television, Pandora music and light switches.
Most of my parenting life is ruled by having to change at a moment’s notice. There are many daily situations that I am very go with the flow – except when it comes to losing power. I lose all sense of…sense. I hate waiting on the unknown of, “When the frick am I going to be able to take a hot shower??!!” I hate losing power in my home. It makes my home cold, and uncertain and lonely and a place I don’t want to be. This then makes me sad because I love my home, so I feel betrayed. And cold and edgy. And then I am at the mercy of some repair person and I have to wait God knows how long for my gosh-darn heat to come back. And then I yell at the girls, making me feel guilty and like a bad mother. A cold, shivering, edgy, guilty, bad mother.
I don’t really care for the smell of a fireplace in my house. To me, a fireplace is a dirty, smoky, pain in the ass. There, I said it. I’d give you my fireplace if I could. I know this goes against the hallmarks of living in New England, and all of the seasonal, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but inside it’s so delightful.” And when the weather gets blustery, people up here just love putting another log on the fire and getting cozy. Not me. I’ll just turn up the heat, thank you very much. I enjoy a fire enough if I am at someone else’s house or in some ye olde rustic setting, but not in the living room of my ranch house. When I was growing up in New York the local television station, WPIX, would show a loop of the Yule Log burning away on Christmas Eve. That’s my idea of a fireplace in my home.
I am not a hardy New Englander. So in the colder months I will continue to remember the advice that a friend who is Swedish said to me, and I hold it dear in my New York heart – “There is no bad weather, only bad clothing.”
Excuse me while I go buy some more silk long underwear and furry outerwear that I will keep on until May.