These old bones

It’s Jan 8 2015 – – the first deep freeze of the year. As we,  in the northern hemisphere think back to the polar vortex of 2014,  we brace ourselves with a sigh of resentment since fond memories of that period elude us like thirst-quenching water in the midst of an arid,  God-forsaken desert. We don’t need another polar vortex – – we DON’T want one!

Fast forward one day to Jan 9 and the snow is falling hard and fast. Beautiful to look at if one had the luxury to do so from inside while sipping a lovely, warm beverage. But not as fun to be in it while pushing a stroller and walking a dog. The stroller hardly wants to move!  It’s the heavy wet snow – –  the kind that makes your feet sink in requiring great effort to maneuver.  The dog understood! She knew we wouldn’t make it very far so she accomplished her requirements in record time.  Bravo!

These events were not witnessed by the kid for she was asleep and nicely bundled under the stroller’s plastic shield and a nice, fleece blanket – – safe and warm. She stayed in her little cocoon for another hour or so as doggy and I made it back inside to deice and enjoy a bit of peace and quite  as my mission to make it to work was aborted. But upon her return to the wakeful world and seeing freshly fallen snow she shrieked,  “Mommy it snowed,  let’s go build a snowman!”

I made several attempts to cultivate the enthusiasm needed to make me comply with that request but all were to no avail. My body remembered the chill from our initial trip outside – –  a chill that could be felt deep down to the bone. Plus, the anguish of re-layering was not far enough in the past to elicit any kind of forgetfulness. Therefore my response had to be calculated, for a promise, if made,  needed to be kept. “Okay honey,” I said,  “we’ll go later once the snow has stopped.”  She nodded then said,  “Okay. ” But as acceptable as the arrangement was, she made me ‘pinky promise’ – – a promise that must never be broken.

Twenty years ago,  or even ten, I would have been just as enthused about building a snowman as she,  but these old bones have seen many winters and now object to being voluntarily subjected to such torture. These old bones yearned for warmth!

The time drew nigh… “Mom,  is it later yet?”  I sighed. The only justification for embarking on such a mission was that the dog needed an extra walk since she was just recovering from a bladder infection and it would benefit her greatly.  Well,  that and the fact that I made the kid a promise. So,  reluctantly, I agreed that it was indeed ‘later’ and so the layering process began:

– 3 undershirts

– 2 sweaters with hoods

– jacket with hood

– 2 pants

– 3 pairs socks

– scarf

{Note to self: get a warmer coat, and boots}

I felt like and Eskimo.  But who am I kidding! I’m guessing Eskimos are looking at us and calling us whimps ! How dear I even compare myself to them? They probably think twenty nine degrees is hot. Sorry Eskimos!

As we made it outside,  doggy relieved herself then the kid and I proceeded to find a clean pile of snow to build a snowman. As I evaluate that moment, I have to say that I failed the kid. I made one snowball and that was all it took for me to abort that snowman-building mission. The chill,  the frost, the ice penetrated beyond all those layers of clothes and radiated to my bones. I couldn’t do it!

I dusted the ice off my gloves and buried my hands so deep in my coat pockets that I inadvertently poked a hole in the right one. “Bloody hell!”  I thought,  “when did I become old? Forty isn’t old! What in the world is going on? ”

I let the kid play some more, but the doggy,  8 yrs old  (56 in dog years), was pulling me in the direction of home.  It seemed that she too no longer enjoyed being out in the snow like before. It seemed I had found solidarity – –  she could relate to my anguish.

The kid saw that we were slowly inching away from the snowbank and instinctively inched along with us as she continued to play. Passers by smiled as they saw my dilemma and as they did I momentarily observed a difference in  attire: inappropriately scanty for the temperature vs well-bundled. I later deduced the ones with less clothes who,  in some cases,  didn’t even bother to zip up or wear a scarf,  were the ones with a car parked not too far away.  But the ‘walkers’,  like me,  were layered beyond recognition ready to brave the fierce elements and perhaps secretly protesting like I was.

My body would acclimate eventually as the winter pressed on as it has always done in the past, but for now these old bones are just not ready!

Fast forward to today,  February 2 2015: a warmer coat, boots, hat and scarf have made a world of difference! These old bones feel a lot better now but have yet to give me permission to build that confounded snowman!


Contents written: Jan 8 2015.  Edited: Feb 2 2015  |  Copyright 2015 Moylom Enterprises


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