Like nearly ever person in West Michigan, I have a serious case of cabin fever.
I won't waste your time however, complaining about the two-hundred feet of snow that's fallen in the last two hours. I won't share about the twenty or thirty times I've had to shovel my walk today as gusts blew it right back in my face. And I certainly will not lament about the temperatures that hover around negative double digits making your nostrils freeze together within moments of stepping outside. To bore you with tales of how we have to shovel areas in our yard so that our large dog and can do his 'duty' because the snow is deeper than he is tall and dogs for whatever reason cannot poop in the same place twice, is not what I will share. You will not hear about how when I open the slider to let aforementioned dog outside, gusts of wind blow drifts of snow inside and require a shovel to once again close the door. Nor will I share how some roads around here are drifted shut because the plows have given up since shortly after they're plowed, the gusts of wind create drifts four feet or more deep across the road.
I will not drone on and on and on about winter in Michigan lasting six months. Or about when I was young how we had fifty foot snow drifts and we had to walk to school uphill both ways despite even frigid-ier temps carrying a hot potato to keep our hands warm in our thin knit mittens since PolarTec and Under Armor weren't invented yet. And how, despite the temps being even colder than today's, we didn't sit inside whining we went outside like real hearty Michiganders. We tied on or zipped up our boots, donned our snow pants that made us look six-sizes larger and our puffy jackets (no sleek ski outfits then!) and grabbed our wooden sleds with the dull blades or our saucers made of tin and went to a neighborhood sledding hill. Or we grabbed our shovels and went through the neighborhood looking for driveways to shovel or to help one of the many rear wheel-drive cars that got stuck in one of those fifty-foot snow banks. It would be just cruel to waste your time with these tales.
Besides, like a mirage in the desert witnessed by a parched person, Michigan winters like this one can make people do strange things. And cabin fever made me write this partly fictitious tale. And cabin fever, likely, made you read it!
Spring officially starts in about fifty days.
I won't waste your time however, complaining about the two-hundred feet of snow that's fallen in the last two hours. I won't share about the twenty or thirty times I've had to shovel my walk today as gusts blew it right back in my face. And I certainly will not lament about the temperatures that hover around negative double digits making your nostrils freeze together within moments of stepping outside. To bore you with tales of how we have to shovel areas in our yard so that our large dog and can do his 'duty' because the snow is deeper than he is tall and dogs for whatever reason cannot poop in the same place twice, is not what I will share. You will not hear about how when I open the slider to let aforementioned dog outside, gusts of wind blow drifts of snow inside and require a shovel to once again close the door. Nor will I share how some roads around here are drifted shut because the plows have given up since shortly after they're plowed, the gusts of wind create drifts four feet or more deep across the road.
I will not drone on and on and on about winter in Michigan lasting six months. Or about when I was young how we had fifty foot snow drifts and we had to walk to school uphill both ways despite even frigid-ier temps carrying a hot potato to keep our hands warm in our thin knit mittens since PolarTec and Under Armor weren't invented yet. And how, despite the temps being even colder than today's, we didn't sit inside whining we went outside like real hearty Michiganders. We tied on or zipped up our boots, donned our snow pants that made us look six-sizes larger and our puffy jackets (no sleek ski outfits then!) and grabbed our wooden sleds with the dull blades or our saucers made of tin and went to a neighborhood sledding hill. Or we grabbed our shovels and went through the neighborhood looking for driveways to shovel or to help one of the many rear wheel-drive cars that got stuck in one of those fifty-foot snow banks. It would be just cruel to waste your time with these tales.
Besides, like a mirage in the desert witnessed by a parched person, Michigan winters like this one can make people do strange things. And cabin fever made me write this partly fictitious tale. And cabin fever, likely, made you read it!
Spring officially starts in about fifty days.
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