THE JAWS OF WINTER - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)     


     The other day I saw an ad that pictured the four seasons.  It posed the question, “Which season makes you feel most at ease?”  Let’s see…do I feel more at ease reading a book in my lounge chair on the deck in the warm sun, or do I feel more at ease tip-toeing across the ice and snow, like it’s a high wire act, hoping I don’t slip and fall to my death.  Okay, I’ll take the lounge chair in the warm sun. 

     Unlike summer, when the days fly by so fast, you don’t have time to put your boat in the water, (although not having a boat can add to the problem) winter is filled with long, dreary days of darkness.  It brings time to a near standstill.  There is very little movement.  My wife said she notices the same thing when she asks me to take out the garbage; there’s very little movement.  Anyway, after peering into the darkness for days and weeks, I gradually degenerate into a formless mass of jelly.  My wife looks for me, and there I am, puddled up on the floor.  She believes I may have a mild form of Seasonal Affective Disorder, a condition that robs a person of their cheery outlook when they spend the winter locked in a dark closet, or in Alaska.  And you don’t want to be locked in Alaska all winter.

     Those who suffer from S.A.D. often feel like winter days are twice as long as those during the summer.  I, myself, have seen some winter days that equaled, at least, three days of summer.  

          

     My good friend, Ozzie, has been struggling with the disorder for years.  I think he’s in the final stages. 

     S.A.D. is caused by a lack of sunlight.  So Ozzie has been experimenting with one of those special lights in a box.  You know, light therapy.  It mimics sunlight.  He says the light has really helped.  It may keep his disorder from spreading beyond the final stages, when you turn into amoeba.    

To be continued...check back soon

   


   


   

THE JAWS OF WINTER - Opening Segment (Scroll down for previous chapters.)


       I was just sitting outside on the deck, having my coffee, and contemplating summer’s departure.  “I hate it when summer leaves so quickly,” I mentioned to my wife.  “I’m not ready for those long, dark, and dangerous days of winter.”

     “What are you moaning about?” she asked.  “It’s June!” 

     “I know, but winter isn’t far off,” I said, looking at my watch. 

     

      I was still having flashbacks of last winter, when I was driving home on 50 miles of snow-covered roads.  I was following the advice my Grandpa had given me years before; always wear clean underwear, and go with the slide.  I thought, “What if I don’t like where the slide is going?  Does that mean I need an extra set of underwear?” 

     This particular night, my car was sliding in all directions.  I didn’t like any of them.  And I spoke to the car about it.  Completely ignoring my concerns, the car then did several fish tails, a 360 spin-around, a couple figure 8’s, along with some other moves I had never seen.  I finally let the car drive on its own, since it wasn’t letting me drive.  While it was driving, I got out my camera and took some great close-up shots of drivers in the other cars screaming as my car went by.  On two separate occasions, I saw passengers jump into the back seat. 

     My car finally managed to point itself in the right direction.  Then it let me drive again.   When I arrived home, I stopped at the top of our snow-covered driveway and parked the car.  Going down the driveway would mean a harrowing ride down to the lower forty and, possibly, into Canada, with a cow for a hood ornament.  Of course, the other cows would probably give me a standing ovation. 

    While I sat in the car at the top of the driveway, I surveyed the best path to the house; a path that would allow me to remain on my feet the entire distance.   I don’t like sliding out of control on ice and snow, especially when I’m on foot.  I finally tied a rope to the bumper of the car and lowered myself down to the bottom of the driveway.  When you’re older, you can’t be too careful.  I used to fall and bounce right up.  Now, I don’t bounce.   I rely on ‘‘catch and release.”  Someone has to catch and release me. 

To be continued...check back soon