Hibernation

Ah, it's that time of the year. Again.

I just returned this afternoon from a wonderful weekend jaunt at Dartbrook Lodge in Keene, NY - a gorgeous, rustic-modern, cozy, sit-by-the-fire-in-your-own-personal-cabin retreat in the middle of the Adirondacks. John and I were fortunate to spend Friday and Saturday night there as the weekend was a Trampoline Design pow-wow. We had a wonderfully relaxing few days nestled in the Mountains, all snug in our toasty lodges with good food and good company.

When we arrived at the Lodge on Friday it had been raining steadily all day, and the sky was grey overcast, the ground muddy as April. But over the course of our brief stay there, winter slowly made it's undeniable return. The puddles of rain froze along with the softening earth, and the ground was dusted by a Saturday evening flurry. Today when we loaded up the car and headed home, the air was crisp and icy, and the sun made the ground sparkle and my eyes squinty, watching the gleaming light patch across the tree-covered mountains. It was a stunning sight, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it wrapped in my wool coat, scarf, and boots with the heat cranking the entire way.

See, I really don't like winter.

It's beautiful, I know. Especially on a day like today, when the sun glimmers off of everything and the pure white stuff blankets everything in purity and calm. But while I can appreciate the intrinsic beauty of winter, the cold hits me in the core and I prefer to stay inside where it's warm, hibernating until spring.

This has been a fact of my life since childhood. Despite an occasional attempt at sledding or ice skating, I spend 99% of every winter indoors. I read. I write. I work on the computer. I watch movies. I listen to music or play guitar or cook or drink. But I do not go outside unless I am in transit to another heated building.

Whenever I tell people this they usually laugh and say, "So why do you live in Upsate New York?"

Well, anyone that knows me would also know that I've spent much of my adult life trying to escape from New York, but money, family, and circumstance has always brought me back.

I've also been told to take up some sort of winter activity so that I have something to look forward to and associate with snow. Try skiing or snow-shoeing, people say. But honestly, the thought of any voluntary extended stay in the cold makes me shiver at the thought.

Born on the hottest day of the year - the last day of July - I have always been a summer baby. Give me 85 degrees, flip flops, sunscreen, and a clear lake and I'm in heaven. Windows down, music blasting, barbeques, ice cold beers, frisbee, softball, sitting on the porch till sunset...

There's nothing I hate more than the feeling of wishing my life away, but it seems that every year - from January until May - I am counting down the days. I get wicked SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and yearn for the sun, for warmth. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate all of the four seasons, can't imagine Christmas without snow, and love the transistion of winter to spring especially. I just wish that it didn't take so goddamn long.

After a lovely weekend - the kind that makes winter bearable - I'm hunkering down and bundling up. Three months to go... I can get through this.