Winter monotony continues. A seemingly endless chain of days, one the same as the others, each one increasingly bleak. Too cold to spend any time outdoors. (Yes, I know it’s a mild winter but if I still need a coat of any type, it’s cold) Indoors, the housework extends itself into the same bleak monotony with the only real respite the television.
TV? Respite? I feel like I should issue a mind gone alert. May I just say this about TV? The demise of daytime soap operas has not improved the programming one iota. At least I could lose myself in the fantasy, the drama, the absurdity of the soaps. Now all that’s left is reality tv and my life has about as much reality as I can take, thank you very much. Mike, however, loves The Military Channel and its monotonous stream of programs about the Nazis, WWII, its battles, its people. I am not a fan. You gathered that no doubt. I am reduced to looking forward to 2 1/2 Men, which, if nothing else, can make me laugh at what a jerk the Sheen character is, and the Big Bang Theory reruns that follow and which are actually pretty amusing. And so there you have it. Winter reduces me to being a FOX fan. I live for the end of the Military Channel and its’ segue to FOX and then the refuge of my bed. Sad but true.
I guess you have gathered that I loathe winter. I see no point in the up/down, fall down get wet tedium of skiing or snowboarding so that distraction is not one that works for me, don’t bother suggesting it. I don’t like the cold. I dislike dressing up in heavy clothes. Cold and wet is not fun, nor is it attractive with the red drippy nose and watery eyes. Then there’s the driving, the shoveling, the car cleaning, the ugly black slush. Forget about it. Worst of all, in my mind anyway, is the dreariness. The lack of color. The lack of music from the birds. The birds have the good sense to go South for the winter…how come I haven’t heard that call and followed suit? I hate winter. This is the worst time for me. Not yet February when I delude myself into believing that the month is over in the blink of an eye, therefore, winter is over. O-V-E-R.
February does not count in my world. My world wouldn’t even have a February on the calendar. It would be like a day long if it had to be there. But January. Well. January isn’t short. January goes on forever. There’s no way I can pretend January is brief, that winter is over, or even short. Nope. January is the worst for me. I’d like to go hibernate during January. The gardening catalogs come in January. That’s nice. Most people use them to plan and plot and look forward. For me they are torture. Like the forces of nature have conspired to truly drive me to the brink by sending me those colors, the vibrancy of the gardens, the life, the photography so fabulous the pages seem to be scented…and letting me sit there knowing it is only January and there are months till I can enjoy this for real. I find the garden catalogues irritating now. I used to like them, I used to plan. Now I can’t bear to look at them until about mid February.
This winter I’ve decided it’s time to stop procrastinating. Maybe it will help to reduce my ordinary winter funk. It’s time to write the story that I am aching to write. Beyond the writing, it’s time to publish it and stop making excuses. I’m reading books on writing. I’m drinking in tons of information but I am not using that preparation as an excuse not to write. I’m writing. I’m writing here. I’m writing letters to the budding Marine. I’m journaling. I’m writing the bones of a chapter a day. Sometimes more. I hope to be ready to publish by Spring. Let’s face it…the monotony of winter, the dearth of anything remotely entertaining on TV, my genuine distaste for domesticity leaves me with plenty of time on my hands and little in the way of diversionary excuses. I should be able to have a decent manuscript by Spring.
And when I do, I’ll be rewarded with trees bursting into leaf in that impossibly gorgeous, glowing, lime green that sparkles in the early morning sun. (Crayola’s Spring Green almost captures it…but not quite) The song of the birds as they seek out their mates and secure the future of their breed, the crocuses and tulips and daffodils poking up through the soil. Yep. Give me Spring…the annual DO-OVER where Mother Nature makes her peace with us for winter. I want a big vase of pink tulips. Another of bright yellow daffodils. Give me a hyacinth and it’s overwhelmingly sweet, cloying perfume. Lilacs. I want bunches of fragrant purple lilacs. Move us into summer for roses. I want bouquets of roses from the garden and the garden filled with its assortment of voluptuous rose bushes heavy with blooms and the air redolent of fruit, musk, and memories of my grandmother’s backyard.
On a side note, and much less prosaic, this morning Mike asked me how to make coffee. He used to make it all the time because I liked being looked after. He used to ask me if I forgot the recipe. I gave him fair warning as I showed him how to do it. Once he gets this down pat again I am forgetting the recipe once again. It’s going to be his job again. I’m planning a summer of sitting in the garden, enjoying the blossoms, sipping iced tea and lemonade while he looks after me…a book propped up in my lap, the roses in full bloom…and the pesky dogs to holler at every 30 seconds to interrupt my serenity. (Earth to Robin….time for re-entry…it’s still winter, the dogs aren’t going anywhere, and you didn’t wake up royalty. Damn! It was a nice fantasy while it lasted…)