Takin' a Chill Pill

Winter is coming. And my shivery soul is dreading the hell out of it.

Wisconsin winters create a sort of inescapable cold. The kind that chills you to the bone and settles in for five to nine months. A cold that makes the first 40 degree day of spring seem like shorts weather. Yeah, I've grown up with it. Yeah, I can deal with it. But no, that doesn't mean I'm on board with it.

Living all these years in the frozen tundra, I have a lot of memories about the cold. After a particularly chilly happy hour the other night (I still can't feel my feet and my bum knee is basically resigned to never bend again) and much discussion about how this winter may be the worst one in awhile (if the Farmer's Almanac says it's so, it is the frickin' law of the land), many of those have bubbled up to the surface...

• When I was in pre-K, there was a blizzard. I don't remember if I was only enrolled in half-days or if it was cancelled due to bad weather, I just remember being bundled up in my snowpants, boots, puffy coat, hat and mittens - a mini, mobile marshmallow. My grandma came to pick me up and half dragged me through the parking lot because of the drifting snow and wind. People kept getting stuck in the lot, but my grandma had a big old 1980's Bronco, so we were going to be fine. She popped this little puffer into the back and went around to get in herself. The back seat had a faux-fur (green/brown in color) thrown over it and my grandma told me I had to stay on the fur, and wrap myself in it. I'm not sure if this was because the heat in the Bronco wasn't fully working due to the cold, or if it was her attempt to keep me in one spot while she maneuvered the storm. Likely, the latter. She told me to save my stories for later (I was a chatty child) and just listen to the radio. The song was "Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye." My grandma sang every word in her smooth baritone (the result of years of lipstick stained cigarettes, likely), while I sat as a silent Eskimo, wrapped in fur. And that song reminds me of her to this day, the woman who always helped maneuver the storm.
• In college, I was friends with an Australian exchange student. We were sitting in class when the first snow of the year began to fall. She stared out the window, completely distracted for the next hour, waiting. As soon as the period ended, she excitedly ran out and we followed, to watch her experience snow for the very first time. Before we could stop her, she scooped up a big handful of fluffy pure white stuff and held it up to us in amazement, ignoring our protests. After a minute of excitedly talking about it, as I tried to force her to put it down, she suddenly looked at me in horror and said, "I can't feel my hands, what's happening??" At that point she finally dropped what was left of the flakes, appalled that it had betrayed her. We took her off to the bathroom to run her hands under room temperature water (never hot - we've all played that game!) and explain to her how mittens work and how not to get frostbite. She was alarmed, resentful, and yet fascinated. Sure, we could've tried to stop her, but it was a beautiful joy to witness (even with a dramatic bitter shift at the end). And really, some things you just have to experience on your own to fully understand. 
• In early 2014, the polar vortex struck. I was living in the upper of a poorly insulated, old house. Single at the time, I had no alternative place to stay. The cost to heat my one bedroom apartment - keeping it at a brisk 58 degrees - was almost $200 a month, and this poor gal refused to pay beyond that.  When the vortex came, I was basically a sitting duck. The windows were already covered in their seasonal caulking/plastic, but I also took the liberty of barricading furniture against walls to act as insulation. I hung "tapestries" (aka blankets) to block doors. I baked daily. Anything to keep warm. One particular day, with a windchill around -40 degrees, my car wouldn't start. I didn't have internet at the time, so I remember walking down the desolate street (not a soul was out - no one wanted to foolishly "brave" the frigid doom), three blocks down to the local coffee shop. The cold was so harsh, it cut through my layers like a knife. I worked remotely from the coffee shop until early afternoon, when they were literally closing due to the cold. Upon my return home, I gathered up every remaining blanket, pillow and stuffed animal, and created a fortress against the cold, in the middle of my living room (my two couches acting as the main walls). Wearing sweatpants over my tights, and a giant penguin Weasley sweater over my under armor, I popped on two layers of fuzzy socks and a stocking cap and burrowed into my nest. I'd lit every candle I could find, determined to warm myself by the fire. My heat was set to 70, but to little avail. I watched the frost grow and crawl up the windows and kept my electric tea kettle brewing within arms length, to feed my booze-laced cocoa. It was one of the longest nights I remember ever having... And yet, it was probably the closest I'll ever come to actually being a caterpillar in a cocoon - so that made it oddly cool. Though my metamorphosis was far less beautiful/graceful, I'm sure.

Should've gotten a hand blanket...

• A different year during college, there had been a blizzard that had covered the campus in several feet of drifted snow. The email went out: all cars must be moved so lots can be plowed. A deadline was imposed. Panic rippled throughout the townhouse village I lived in: no one had shovels. Not having a car at the time, I went out into the fray, fully bundled up in my winter gear, to help out where I could. The scene was both ridiculous and heartwarming. Hungover young adults, donning stocking caps and boots over their pajamas. Groups fully decked out in winter snowboarding gear, complete with goggles. Students in tennies and hoodies. All using whatever they could find to free the cars. With an assortment of pots, pans, bowls, and sheer willpower, we slowly uncovered and pushed out vehicle after vehicle. Teamwork and frostbite abounded that day. 

The cold is inevitable. Whilst living this far north of the Mason-Dixon, there's really no way to avoid it. All one can do is hope to make some warm memories to heat up the heart during those cold times... 

....Cheesy? Way too cheesy on that one? 

Yeah, most definitely. 

Really, I often get to the point where, despite my wonderful memories from various chilly moments in my life, I get totally fretful about the approach of winter. I figure one may as well pack on a few pounds and just use the walrus weight to ward against the chill. BUT then you have to work twice as hard in the spring to get fit again, so that's no good. Really, it's like...  just suck it up, buttercup, let's all pretend we're tough mid-westerners who relish the ice, grab our liquid blankets, and we'll all hold up together til the thaw comes. Let's hope there are some shenanigans to keep us occupied til then.