Blahs; Blah, blah, blah, and Ho Hum!

I must admit the post Celebration blahs have set in. The expectation of what winter will bring following the fancy dress ball of autumn has turned into a major let down! I haven't missed the cold that sometimes drops to minus zero right after Thanksgiving and stays through Ground Hog Day. I keep wondering, however, "where is the snow?" When I was a member of the Columbia Heights High School Choir, we sang "Winter Wonderland" which opened with the line "Over the ground lies a blanket of white; a sky full of stars shines down through the night . . ." My sister Pat being humorous would sing it with the following words, "Over the ground lies a blanket of brown . . " Up to that period Minnesota had not experienced a "brown winter"; not until 1975 (I believe) did Old Man Winter withhold snow from the forecast.

A youngster me would wake on a given morning knowing that snow had arrived. I could smell it during the night and would race to the window knowing the moldy leaves and dust of autumn were all covered over with a fresh coating of white. I was hardly ever wrong. Dave and I sleep with the window open a bit almost all winter long. It takes a real cold snap to force us to close it. I still smell the freshness of new-fallen snow. Not so this year!

When I worked at a church over a period of seven years, I would arrive early because Dave would drop me off on his way to work. After a fresh snowfall, I would deposit my things inside my office and then take shovel in hand and shovel snow. Some co-workers thought I did it to keep the walks dry and safe for them, others thought I did it for an extra jewel in my Heavenly crown, and others thought I did it because I was too crazy to be questioned too closely. I did it to play in the snow. Pure, simple delight in being outside in the snow. If it was still snowing the delight was heightened. Several times, I finished shoveling and went to each office window and created a "snow angel".

Remember as children, we would rush out into new snow and make the first snow angels of the year? Finding a patch of undisturbed snow, we would fall back, swing our arms and legs and then try to rise without ruining our angel. If we remembered to have a broom handy, we could reach out with the handle and draw a halo above our angel. Mom always said the only time she could see an angel was in the snow or when I was sleeping. Hmmmmmmmm.

I still like new, fresh snow! We have a small deck, a patio, a short driveway, and a set of steps by our back door. Those are mine to clear! If the snowfall is very heavy or very persistent as it was in 2010-11, I run out of oomph lifting the snow. Dave and I own one of the snowplow thingys that has a wide yellow blade, a swinging handle, and wheels so I can plow the heavy snow fall to the side of the driveway. I have fun and when Dave comes home from work, he can make short work of my plow ridge with the snow blower. If the snow blower weren't so heavy, I would play with that too, because another love of mine is machinery.

I am no longer agile enough to make snow angels (on purpose that is). Sometimes the very lack of agility causes me to land in the snow and create something akin to a snow angel as I try to right myself before too many neighbors notice. But I still like to be the first to walk through new-fallen snow. The squirrel, rabbit or bird who trounces my unblemished snow before I do better beware! Just the other night, I made an unnecessary trip to the recycling bin to make sure I was the only critter who had left prints in our quarter-inch dusting of sparkly flakes.

I believe it was in 1981 (or was it 1991?) we had the Halloween Blizzard. In one night it dropped about a third of the snow we usually amass over an entire winter. I was beside myself. I could go out and shovel and play and walk. Well I could if we could get out either door! Both our doors were drifted shut and it took determination and lots of work to just set foot on the outside. Once out, I laughed and played and shoveled while Dave shoveled and muttered and groaned. When the shoveling was done, I put our Miniature Schnauzer, Liebchen, on a leash and took him out to play. Dave was done with me, our children wouldn't play so I took the dog. I guess I kept him out too long. For the rest of his life, when there was new snow, if I put on my coat, boots, and mitts he would groan and hide under the bed until I went out without him. Traitor!

For a time, we had an "electric shovel". This was a mini snow blower. You gave it the action of a shovel, thrusting and scooping. However, it had blades that bit into the snow and threw it for you. It was especially nice after the snowplow went by. We had a Standard Schnauzer named Mr. Whiskers (nasty piece of work who only liked me). He was not much for playing outside in the snow. He would only come out when the shoveling was done and he had level places to be out. We had a snowfall, followed by an unusually mild day. Fresh clean air and mild temperatures made me decide it would be a good day to give the house an airing while I cleared a path with the power shovel. Another fine idea of mine! I lowered the furnace temp so it would not come on, opened front and back doors to let the air blow through freshening every nook and cranny of a winter-closed home. I heard Whiskers barking, but that was not unusual. His two least favorite things were snow and the power shovel. When I could take the constant noise no longer, I turned off the shovel and turned to scold. No wonder he was barking! I had power shoveled about a barrel full of snow right into our living room on top of the dog! Don't you wonder why he picked me to be his favorite person?

I've always wanted to winter camp. Dave doesn't like camping in any form (says he slept in his last tent in 1967 in Viet Nam). He has explained through gritted teeth that spending a night near Lake Superior with the windows in our room open wide so I can hear the lake is like winter camping. I no longer have the strength in my legs to walk from a parking area to where a winter camp could be made especially carrying sleeping bag, plus gear. Unless I decide some year to camp in our son's back yard during the winter, I probably will not be able to do any winter camping. Think of being burrowed into a sleeping bag in a mound of snow with winter white all around you. I know there would be a full moon and clear skies. The sweet odors of wood fire and fresh air would provide atmosphere. If my camping world was completely right, the howl of wolves (in the distance, to be sure!) would round out the experience. I bet it would be a fine night's sleep!

So, a brown winter surrounds me except for the few flakes that have dusted house and home since Christmas. I'm not above making mud angels -- it's just not the same. Muddy the mud man doesn't have a nice ring to it. Stepping outside in the winds we've been having means that your cheeks are sandblasted and your nostrils have a fine ring of dust coated round them. I was cleaning up after Nutmeg the other day and actually got hit in the forehead with a leaf blown at gale force. It stung! No wonder I have the blahs. Guess I'll end this here and knit for awhile.