I have long been dreading a visit from an unwanted guest. I put it out of my mind for as long as I possibly could, pretended the day would never come and did my best to think about other things. I avoided the subject at the dinner table and truly wished I could take an extended trip to Aruba so that Mr. Bad Company could not find me.
But I still knew he was coming.
At times, I sensed he was doing a driveby. On occasion, I suspected him of a “Ring and Run.” As happy as I was that he did not stick around during those times and make his presence known, I still knew what was looming on the horizon. Suddenly, there it was — the time had arrived. It was like an ominous ringing of the doorbell, announcing this dreaded guest. And as much as I wished for it, I knew he wasn’t going away.
I could have avoided him, but I knew he would start knocking and perhaps go so far as to rattle the door.
With his arrival imminent, my knees went weak with despair, my heart began to pound with dread, and I threw my head back like a 2-year-old preparing for a tantrum. I clenched my fist and cried out, “No!”
Unable to deny the arrival any longer, I opened the proverbial door with revulsion — and there he was, in all of his frigid glory. My shoulders slumped, my nose turned up, and scorn was written all over my face as I slowly said with great disdain, “Hello, winter.” It was enough to make my blood run cold. Oh my, how winter can blow in with an icy chill. He certainly let his presence be known last week in Barr, Colo., where he dropped the temperature 22 degrees within minutes. He let Michigan know he was arriving, but that did not mean they had to like him. Surely those snow-removing folks at the stadium in Minnesota turned and looked at each other and asked, “Didn’t he just leave?”
Winter is like a third cousin twice removed who brings way too much luggage. He doesn’t clean up after himself, leaves his icy garb all over the landscape and lingers for about six months too long.
At times, it seems there is not much you can do to get him to curtail his visit.
You could give him the cold shoulder, but I don’t think he would notice. An icy stare, no matter how stern, does nothing to dissuade him. You could start talking politics in an attempt to make him uncomfortable, but I think he would enjoy the misery.
He is settling in and going nowhere fast.
One minute we are all enjoying the beautiful fall, and the next we are grabbing our Sherpa coats and platter-shaped mittens as we brace ourselves for the 10-foot trek to the car.
Winter kept his visit brief this time. Yet we know he is coming back with a vengeance. He doesn’t care that he is on thin ice, and there is nothing that will stop him cold in his tracks.
We could batten the hatches, put the idea of his return on ice and hope against all hope that if we ignore him, winter will just go away. But we all know it will be a cold day in Hades before that happens.
Like that third cousin twice removed who shows up early, stays too long and makes you uncomfortable with his mere presence, winter will soon be putting his icy grip on our daily lives.
Worse yet, he likes to invite his cousin, Jack Frost, along for the ride. And no matter how poetic we try to be about the duo, it is still a cold move.
I suppose we could embrace Old Man Winter. Perhaps we could welcome him in, enjoy the beauty that beholds us and focus on the positive side.
As optimistic as we try to be, deep down we know those intentions are as pure as the driven snow.
With the recent, bitter blast, I have been thinking that perhaps we should rethink things. In fact, how about we make winter into a verb? How does this sound — “If you need me, I’ll be wintering in Aruba.”
That melts my heart just to think about it.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].