Baby It's Cold Outside

This has been an unusually cold January.  It was down to 12F outside this week.  I know it's winter and it's supposed to be cold, not balmy, but this is different. I do not like such intense, bone chilling cold. It's too cold to go out, it's difficult to get this drafty house warm, and at some point I'm as layered up as I can tolerate.

Growing up in Iowa, you would think I would be more nonchalant about winter temperatures, WV is much milder, winter-wise than Iowa was. I remember, as a girl, multiple consecutive days where the thermometer never got close to zero. Where the windchill meant temperatures of -15 or -20F and we had to go out in it because they did NOT call school off for frigid temperatures. We had a trusty woodstove that we used to heat the house, falling back on the furnace only when necessary, so that meant the big woodbox would require refilling, cold outside or not.

Perhaps it's the yucky feeling of waking up with my teeth literally chattering, soaked to the skin (from hot flashes, but I'm only 44 for Pete's sake!) and freezing while I change pajamas I'm getting older and wiser, because I'm starting to sympathize with my Mother who hated Iowa winters.  Driving was precarious, keeping that woodstove going was a full time job and the snow sometimes started as early as October and lasted until Easter.  By February driving on country roads felt like driving through a tunnel, a blinding white tunnel, with the snow piled up on either side of the road and the plowman at a loss as to where to put any more.  On top of all that, Mom also suffered mightily from arthritis.  Her poor joints felt every Canadian front and nasty precipitation pattern that found their way to our little corner of the world.  She and Dad eventually moved to Arkansas where Mom said it never got really cold and the hot, humid summers made her aching joints feel even better.  In fact, she said she loved the heat.

Now, I am the one who can predict weather with my left knee.  I'm like those old folks in front of the general store, "ah yup, storm's a comin' - my knee's all stoved up" as I limp down the steps in search of aspirin and a hot shower.  Was it from an old cross country injury?  My brief career as a 7th and 8th grade cheerleader?  Those years as a soldier hefting who-knows-how many pounds of rucksack on endless death road marches?  Carrying my babies around long after they should have just been allowed to walk, fussy or not?  I don't know.  Given how much it bothers me, I'm grateful it doesn't show up in both knees.  I also think there must be a hereditary factor - Dad and my sister K both are on a first name basis with "Arthur" as the unwelcome guest is known.  Grandma C suffered horribly from arthritis, was nearly crippled by it.

Eldest son told me it was the barometric pressure change that caused my knee to hurt.  He went into all kinds of scientific detail about it.  Turns out there is even an Aches and Pains Map.  Somehow, having that map seems to make it all more legitimate and less old folks complaining anecdotal.  More snow is expected tonight.  I've got plenty of aspirin and ibuprofen.

 And a comfy bed dressed in flannel sheets and a down comforter to get that long winter's nap.

Brrrrr

I woke up to a very snowy morning. As predicted, T's school was cancelled, and I shooed him back to bed when he woke up to his alarm. The snow piled up on the telephone lines! I went to the grocery store 2 days ago, so we are well stocked, and I had no hearings scheduled, so it is a snowbound day and we're cozy here.

The views are taken from my bedroom, where I sit above all of the other houses on our little street. My bedroom is a former attic that has been converted to living space. I didn't do the conversion, but I did update it. Tomorrow I will take pictures of my cozy bed with it's new comforter and then all will know how hard it is to get out of such luxury and warmth on cold mornings. That's my Honda Pilot (circa 2003) buried under snow, in front of my dogwood tree, in the second picture. If anybody wants a ride somewhere today, guess what the fare will be? Digging out is my least favorite chore, I prefer to let it melt if I can.

I started to take apart the Bolivian handknit, handspun sweater I found last week at a thrift store for $4. Difficult isn't the word I'm looking for, but "tedious" might be. I have a whole new respect for whomever knit it, because it is beautifully knit and the intarsia so well executed. Each seam required mammoth fortitude but the handspun 2 ply alpaca is so gorgeous I knew I was going to do it. I rewarded myself with chocolate at quite a few spots along the way. I finally have the front half done. Stupid cows and houses and trees. The final pictures show the cakes of yarn after I wound them on the ballwinder from balls I hand wound while disassembling.

I had an impromptu late night dying session late last night with some of the lavender yarn I raveled from the collar. More on that tomorrow.

I'm going to fortify myself with more coffee and see where the laundry situation stands. I've done a couple of loads, but as all mothers know the washing and drying is the easy part, the folding, delivery and putting away is what drags you down. When I think of how, even today, women have to wash their clothing in an icy stream and hang it over bushes to dry, I feel a gratitude for my appliances and shame in myself for thinking laundry done at Chez Maryskid is a thankless chore.

But I'm still going to need more coffee.