It’s so cold these days that I catch myself singing Christmas carols as I’m going about my business. Tonight as I waited for the city bus to arrive and take me home after a trip to São Paulo, I was feeling rather chilly as the frigid wind blew on me . . . despite the five top layers and two bottom layers, gloves and boots and I had on. And before I knew it, I was humming, “Baby, it’s cold outside”.
I know, I know, I’m Canadian and all. Don’t get me wrong: I love seasonal changes. Being Canadian, I’m partially dependant on all the feelings associated with the changing of seasons to sense that time is passing and that life is actually moving forward. Truth be told, I like cold weather. I like the crispness that’s in the air when the temperature drops. To me, there’s something comforting, even romantic, about all the things associated with fighting off the cold. The thought of pulling on sweaters and scarves and eating soup and drinking hot chocolate brings with it such a cozy feeling. Cold weather is a beautiful thing. I just like being able to escape it.
The problem is that although “the weather outside is frightful” here, so is the weather inside. The reality of winter where I live is that there’s no “but the fire is so delightful” part to the song. I wake every morning before my alarm clock, hot and toasty and weighed down by so many blankets that I have to work to turn myself over. And life feels pretty good. But it’s not long before I have to face the harsh reality that from the moment I set my foot on the floor until I crawl back under the blankets with my hot water bottle at night, I will be working to stay warm. At 6am, the battle is officially on.
I drink lots of tea, wear lots and lots of clothes, eat lots and lots and lots of food (I find that it’s hard to feel when your stomach becomes full through so many layers of clothes) and have ridiculously long, hot showers. To no avail. There are too many hours in the day, and I always end up spending some of them with white fingers and something like a stomach cramp from tensing myself up trying to stay warm.
It’s hard to concentrate on anything else. I’ve been telling people that I’ll be productive again in three months when all my efforts aren’t taken up with trying to separate myself from the all-encompassing cold that surrounds me. But alas, there is plenty of work to be done despite the cold. So, necessity is the mother of invention.
I’m quite pleased with my most recent solution. I’ve decided to bring my home life into the kitchen (except for sleeping and showering, which are already solutions in themselves). I’ve currently closed myself in by shutting the doors off to the rest of the house and I’ve opened the oven door and turned it on full blast. Let me tell you, indoor heating is a wonderful invention, even if it’s not done in the conventional way. Life seems live-able again. And besides, I only have to wait a month before I can escape to the warmth of summer in the true North, strong and free. It’s a pity the couch won’t fit in here, though.
