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.
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