Cold Weather

I saw on the news that the polar vortex that has been causing all this cold weather will end soon. Instead of dipping down into the United States, the jet stream will straighten out and follow its usual path across Canada. Average temperatures will return to normal throughout the South.

It’s about time. I’ve whined about the cold weather a lot in recent posts, so much so you would think that I’ve moved to the Aleutians rather than north Georgia. I admit to being a baby about the cold, but it’s been forty years since I’ve lived in a place this cold. I had forgotten what it was like. It sucks.

We had two mornings in January when the outside temperature in the morning was one degree. In case you’ve forgotten, one degree is 31 degrees below the freezing point of water. On the Celsius scale that’s -17 degrees. I’m glad we don’t use the Celsius scale in the United States. I’d be really cold if it was -17 C rather than 1 F.

(I’ve never really understood the Fahrenheit scale. Why is freezing 32 degrees? What was the determining factor for establishing zero degrees? Is it the temperature where snot freezes? Is that when your tongue sticks to metal? Maybe it’s the temperature where men’s testicles disappear.)

To give you an idea of what it has been like around here, the average morning temperature in January was 25 degrees. We’ve had several stretches where the temperature has not gotten above freezing for two or three days. I tried working on the stone wall recently, and I had to use a pickaxe to chip the rocks off the frozen ground.

The cold weather is starting to get to me.

Living in a cold place adds a layer of complexity to your daily life. In Florida, all I had to do to leave the house was throw on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of flip-flops. If it was chilly, I would grab a sweatshirt. When I first came to Florida to go to graduate school, I remember how liberating it was not to have to wear winter clothing. More importantly, I remember how great it was that coeds did not have to wear winter clothing. It was hormonal heaven for a young man. I think the man who invented spandex should receive the Nobel Prize.

Here, at least in the last two months, going outside is a major production. I have to put on long pants, a t-shirt, a flannel shirt, a sweater, a coat, gloves, and a hat to leave the cabin for more than a minute or two. I never forget to put on a scarf in case I get trapped in my car and want to strangle myself.

The cold eliminates any spontaneity in going outdoors. You don’t just pop out for a walk or a quick trip to the store. Even a small thing like putting up the flag in the morning is a one act play because of the need to dress warmly against the cold. It’s like living in a space station. The world is divided into two zones—inside and outside—and you do not pass freely between them. When you live in Florida you don’t even think of things like this, but come here in winter, and you will soon understand.

Once I get all that warm clothing on, inevitable I get hot and have to start shedding layers when I get to where I’m going. I’ve put on coats and sweaters and taken them off more times in the last month than I did the entire time I lived in Florida. I’m beginning to feel like a stripper at Diamond Dolls. It gets old after a while.

Gloves are a bother. They are necessary to keep your hands warm, but try reaching into your pocket for your car keys when you’re wearing them. Better yet, try using a cell phone wearing a pair of gloves.

Keeping track of my gloves when I take them off is a hassle. If I stuff them in my coat pockets, I’m walking around with two bulges at my waist. I look like Captain Kangaroo or a marsupial with twins. If I hold my gloves in my hand that means that one hand is always occupied. I have developed great empathy for the proverbial one armed paper hanger.

I tried tying a pair of gloves together with a string like a pair of kid’s mittens so that they dangled from my wrists when I took them off. The problem was that the gloves kept slapping me in the face when I reached up to take off my hat or reach for an overhead item. I felt like Curley in a Three Stooges movie.

Our bedroom has a walk in closet located on the northeast corner of the cabin. On a cold morning, the closet is the approximate temperature of a meat locker. It’s so cold it’s uncomfortable to change clothes in it. I’ve gotten in the habit of running into the closet, grabbing whatever clothes come to hand, then running back into the bedroom to dress. I call it dash and dress. The result is that on most days I look like the poster boy for fashion blindness.

The cold has caused a big alteration in my habits. In the fall I usually was out of the cabin by 6:00 or 7:00 a.m. But there’s no point in leaving the cabin that early when the temperature is in the 20’s or below. It’s too cold to work. Now I typically stay inside until late morning when the temperature outside has gotten bearable. There are some days when there is no point going out at all.

Being cooped up inside so much is starting to make me stir crazy. I’m beginning to get cabin fever. I can watch TV or read only so much. I’ve started making cheese to pass the time. I’m turning out cheese like the Octomom turns out babies. If this keeps up, I figure I’ll have at least 100 pounds of cholesterol locked up in homemade cheese by the time spring rolls around.

The locals tell me that this weather is unusual and that winters are generally milder. I hope so. The weather is starting to get to me.

An uplifting message of hope. Just when I’m down and depressed because the weather is cramping my style, I get to pass this message on the sign board at the Mineral Bluff Baptist Church: “Men who seek God at the eleventh hour may die at 10:30.”

Thanks for reminding me. I appreciate the positive outlook. I hope you have a good day too.