Let It Snow

First, I am eternally grateful we still have power. Second, we’ve turned the thermostats down to 58, which isn’t something we do even in the dead of summer. I’ve got on my thermal underwear, a good coat, and my insulated, waterproof boots. I feel comfy, which I think is pretty good for a Texan in winter when the temperature is hovering at 7 with a windchill in negative numbers.

Mama cat had a difficult time figuring out what to do this morning, but like the other’s she just did her business and covered it with powdery snow. I don’t ski, but this seems like good ski snow. It’s so light I was even able to sweep the dog run and back porch clear so that we could walk without fear of falling on our ass, which is what I did yesterday when I tried to leave the porch only to discover the flowerbed mulch had a sheet of ice on it. Pow. On my butt and back.

I think the key to feeling comfortable with an inside temperature in the 50s is to go stand outside in single digits and let the wind blow. The shelter of the house and that fifty-degree temperature swing is great. Hurray for stone houses. I hear we have another storm heading our way on Wednesday. Yippee. Oh, well. There’s little to be done at this point except to hunker down and let the wind blow, which pretty much describes how I’ve spent the last two years watching my wife die. Now that I think about it, that makes this pale in comparison. So, let it snow. I’m good.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodby: A Caregiver’s Tale