In the bleak midwinter

It is at about this point in January that winter begins to wear on one's soul.  Especially around this part of Ontario where winter is deep, cold, often dark and snowy.  The days on which the sun shines brilliantly are inevitably the coldest and the dreariness of the darker days feels like the gods are laughing down upon this remote area of Siberia.  I realise that if I had grown up enjoying winter - doing things like skiing, skating on frozen lakes and perhaps ice-fishing (I really don't know if the last activity would add to my winter-joy meter) - I might enjoy this season a bit more.  After all, Dave doesn't find it so bad.  I think he enjoys winter's opposition to summer, sort of like sorrow increasing joy.  But then again, those who have been Afelskies for many years tend to have been given an inordinate amount of optimism.  (Case in point:  my mother-in-law just popped in and said, "Isn't it nice out?") My children might be the Afelskies who turn the tide.

As I type this post, the three oldest boys are dressed in their bathing suits and backpacks playing some sort of exploring/spy game.  They are benefiting from central heating.   And, I kid you not, I just heard Benjamin yell at Jacob, "That's because I hate winter!!"  Hannah is a bit more like her dad and has suited up in her jacket, pants, boots and mitts (Joe has actually composed a song including those items of clothing which he sings while he dresses ... and which rings in my head).  She is outside adding to her snow fort which has several rooms each equipped with its own TV.  Begrudgingly, she added rooms for her brothers last night.  Despite her apparent magnanimity, the add-ons are barely discernible from the nearby snowbank.

It appears that Hannah has made a truce with the season; nevertheless, she still has a deep soul-longing for the warmer months.  It was her words that sparked this post in the first place.  About an hour ago, she said to me:  "Mom, do you remember summer?"  Now, she didn't say, "Mom, do you remember last summer or the summer when we..."  No, she said, "Do you remember summer?" in a Narnia sort of way, like "Do you remember that there once was a time when we opened outside doors and kept them open, wore short pants that stopped above the knees, and green material grew on the trees?"  It was that sort of question.  I think she might have been unsure as to whether or not that distant memory was real or not.  Luckily I have 25 more years of summer under my belt and I was able to reassure her that June would come again.  At least I tell myself this.

Maybe she'll build me a room in her snowfort in gratitude.  I hope my snow TV has cable.