The older I get the more the weather affects me. I heard my son complaining the other day that all I talk about is the weather. He says I repeat the same jokes and stories to everyone I talk to. Maybe that is true but don’t most of us talk about the weather these days?
I have always been a weather buff. It comes from my father who is also one. Even to this day everytime I call him in Florida the first thing I get is the weather update. Temperature first and then the entire forecast. “Hi Dad it’s Shari. ” “Hi Shari. Well it is 80 degrees here and sunny.” Maybe it is because he is a weather buff or maybe that is what you get from everyone who retires in Florida.
So my husband says I should get a light to sit under because he is convinced I have “Seasonal Affective Disorder”. I don’t know, maybe I do. Not sure I am going to do the light thing but the more I think about it the more I realize my moods are affected by lack of light in the Boston area in the winter months. It is 4:15 pm and I am looking at the clock wondering when it is appropriate to actually eat dinner. In the summer months I have so much more energy and am often just beginning to think about what to make for dinner around 7 pm (which in the winter I am already in my sweats and ready to wind down). Is it age?
I find myself more and more cranky when it is cold, the older I get. I think back to those college days at Cornell when I walked 45 minutes to get to class or take an exam. I must have been nuts the day I walked in wind, snow and below zero temperatures to take a Physics final. Physics of all subjects (I am not a math and science person). I don’t remember being as cranky as I am now.
So now we are faced with “Snowmageddon”. I have always loved snow. There is nothing better than walking in the evening and watching the snow peacefully and gracefully fall from the sky in the light of the moon. And my childhood memories of snow are etched in my mind. Racing outside before anyone touched the snow to make snow angels. Waking up at the crack of dawn to listen to the radio to see if school had been cancelled. I even wrote a poem for English class about my love of snow days. As a parent I saw the same excitement in my children’s eyes (and their screaming voices) at the cancellation of school. And I am a skier and we love snow and regular pray for it. But this is something different. It never stops. And it is paralyzing. The city is shut down. The suburbs are a mess. People are inpatient and moody and not very nice when driving the narrow streets. Every task seems arduous. Just when we pick ourselves up the news comes of another storm. How can my relationship with snow be so paradoxical? What to do? New Englanders are resilient I am told. And I was originally from Upstate New York so that should also have prepared me. My home is here and I spend time in Maine. I am not giving up skiing any time soon. So, for now my answer is to keep repeating those same jokes and stories about the 60 inches of snow we just received and continue to drive my son nuts…