Yesterday was truly winter. For weeks the weather has been moderate, dry and warm enough for open windows in the afternoon, but a change in the jet stream reminded us that old man winter was just in repose. The morning brought a whiteout of snow, icy streets, brutal cold and a biting wind, all expected to be around for a while. It was, of course, the talk of the day, in conversations and in the news. It's always amusing to listen to the whining that ensues in these situations - schools should have been closed, streets weren't cleared fast enough (my personal favorite is, "There was snow on the street and I couldn't see the pavement!") and just the loathing of winter in general. How spoiled we are as a civilization! The people who complain the most have homes with central heating, workplaces that are over-heated and cars that may even have heated seats. How much time do they really spend in the elements? I am reminded of this book, The Long Winter, which I have reread every year since childhood. It has even become part of my Christmas decor. Blizzards for nearly seven months, a grease candle for light, haysticks for heat and potatoes and bread for sustenance? Methinks every modern-day malcontent should read this and instead be thankful.
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