It's Only Going to Get Worse

Just as the sight of dead skunks peppering our roads signals that spring is upon us, the fact that my English Setter is still tightly curled on his bed right now, signals to me that summer has said goodbye. There is no need for high tech gadgetry letting me know the seasonal changes when I have these other, tried and true, methods.

It is odd, being the animal lover I am, that the sight of those poor hapless skunks, having lost their lives while scampering across the road shortly after emerging from their underground hovels, doesn’t cause me more sadness than it does. It doesn’t make me happy, and yet, oddly I'm okay with it. Perhaps because I truly loathe being cold. And I know, when nature tells these little critters it’s safe to leave their protective surroundings, I too can leave mine.

Of course, the same is true (only in reverse), when I notice my bird dog has no desire to rise and shine upon hearing me clumsily make my way to the steaming hot coffee maker in the morning. Instead, he barely lifts an eyelid, and at most, burrows himself deeper into his fluffy bed. I don’t blame him, I’d do the same. However, this foreboding lack of movement just tells me that things are only going to get worse.

Some people, for reasons I can’t imagine, enjoy winter. I’m not one of those people. Instead it only takes approximately two days of walking around with ice cold toes before I get thoroughly irked. Don’t get me wrong, there is something innately nurturing to the soul when it comes to curling next to a warm fire as the wind howls and the snowflakes fall steadily outside the window. But those brief moments barely make up for the misery of pushing a shopping cart jammed full of groceries bags across a slushy parking lot.

For many years I didn't have a garage, making life in the blustery winter even more unbearable. Trudging through the snow just to get into one’s house is pure misery. And I feel it ages a person. I suppose science may say different, but just the fact that I’m spitting and sputtering the entire time can’t help to create happy, healthy cells within my body. No, my cells enjoy the feel of sunshine. And like a rotisserie chicken, when allowed to bask under its rays, I shift ever so gently ensuring that every inch of my body is browned evenly - not with hopes of obtaining the perfect savage tan, but to feel the warmth deep within my bones.

Even though within a matter of hours the sun will have adequately warmed my home, I’m sitting here, right now, with a cold nose, socks on my feet and a wool sweater draped over my pajamas. As it gets colder, I’m in less and less of a hurry to officially start my day. For all of us living in the upper Midwest we know our warm days are always numbered. In fact, once we are graced with the first day of summer, we can hear the clock ticking. With every click we know that before we are ready, we will be saying goodbye to this most welcomed guest. Instead of sitting on our decks, front lawns or what-have-you, we will be (or I should say, I will be), standing in a treasured sun square located on the floor. I won’t be alone. I will be sharing these ever migrating squares with my two dogs and oftentimes the cat. As autumn settles in, so does the sadness of knowing what arrives once it’s gone. It is ironic how something so beautiful, can also be the harbinger of something so bitter.

Sane