I Love Winter,
Without Prejudice
I love winter, said no one ever. Especially not me as I suffer severely from Seasonal Affected Disorder, or S.A.D. ( effective name )
But trying to be brave and efficient, the other day, I went to the local Supermarket, Woolworths at the Hunt Club close to where I live. I could have legged it there in five minutes but chose to take the car instead. That's because I will buy Icy Poles or ice cream which is one of the cures for Sad, according to my rules anyway. One has to get ice cream home in a hurry before it melts so that's why I drive, well that's my excuse.
I wore two pairs of pants, stretch work out pants, track pants, two pairs of socks, gum boots, a short sleeved top over a tight body con slip with a Country Road zip up wool jacket, scarf, and fingerless gloves. I'm prepared for anything. I look like the Michelin Man but do I give a shit ? Not a chance.
When the cheery young woman at the checkout asked me how I was, I answered one word,
" Freezing "
" I love Winter " she replied. And smiled.
I really looked at her then, she of the twenty something, eyelashes that are not hers that stick out like chapel hat pegs and a whole life in front of her full of babies and sunny days with smiles. Given that my last remaining Aunt is almost ninety seven I figure I have maybe forty summers left. And forty Winters. I said not a word and left with my box of Paddle Pops, chocolate of course. That way I figure I have two of the main food groups covered, dairy and chocolate.
I thought about her comment on the two minutes it took me to drive home.
" How could anyone LOVE Winter ? " I thought.
Melbourne in Winter is sharply cold. Iron grey days with rain and biting winds, dripping trees that manage to aim droplets of cold water down between your collar and neck. The yard is a wet muddy shambles, covered in soggy leaves that look like lumps of dog Doo da and probably are. The Hills Hoist is drooping, bowed down with wet washing as if in it itself it can't take the weight and the cold.
I suddenly remember the washing line in Yorkshire when I was fourteen, and the cloth nappies of my new born baby sister that froze solid on the line and could stand up on their own when I brought them inside. And the coal fires which it was my job to light in the chilly mornings. Tightly twisted newspaper sheets then kindling and then the precious coal that had to be fetched in a bucket from the coal shed. Luckily it had a door on the inside of the house and one outside unluckily for the poor coal man that delivered it.
Lighting the coal fire was an art in itself sometimes needing the use of bellows or sour morning breath if one was feeling lazy. There is nothing like the warmth and look of a good coal fire where cold hands can be stretched out in front of and muffins and bread can be toasted on long tridents of metal. Then cooled and buttered with butter so thick you can see your teeth marks in it. Or spread with dripping and salt, the dripping from the Sunday Joint or bought at the Co-Op for next to nix.
I hated the cold when we first arrived in England from Australia. It seemed like eons ago that we had been living on the Gold Coast with sun, sea and sand and now we were living in cold so vicious that it nauseated me and curled me into a foetal position in bed. The hot water bottle barely breaking the wall of ice and dampness surrounding my chittering body. I will never forget that intense cold feeling.
I want to move to Queensland every Winter spent in Melbourne. And a few times I have. Moved. But always return. My children and grand children live here. No contest. So I gird my loins and suffer the Winter cold, the cruel winds, the hail, the frost, short days, long nights, cold aching hands, the wet collars because I don't have a choice.
I sit in front of bright lights that are supposed to help with S.A.D. I make my home as cosy as possible with throws and lamps and electric blanket and make scones and home made soups, braises with slow cooked lamb and lots of onions and Yorkshire Puds and gravy with hot sauce. I have a heater in my bedroom and a gas fire in the lounge. I put up my Winter Curtains of velvet that hang richly blocking out the sight of streaming, steaming Windows.
And I read novels. I read somewhere that novels help with the depression of S.A.D. Bright lights help as do Anti Depressants and getting out in the winter sun when it shows itself. And telling yourself that Winter ends and Spring will arrive as it always does.
S.A.D. Is a serious condition. It's a form of depression and takes strange forms. Last year I was obsessed with tissues. I had to check my supply of face tissues, check the levels in the box, keep spare boxes on hand. Don't ask me why I had this obsession but I read of one man who had to ring his Father and get him to come over whenever he went to cook lamb chops. He would literally say to his Dad,
" Dad you better come over I'm scared of lamb chops again "
So I would never say I Love Winter, because I don't.
I love winter, said no one ever. Especially not me as I suffer severely from Seasonal Affected Disorder, or S.A.D. ( effective name )
But trying to be brave and efficient, the other day, I went to the local Supermarket, Woolworths at the Hunt Club close to where I live. I could have legged it there in five minutes but chose to take the car instead. That's because I will buy Icy Poles or ice cream which is one of the cures for Sad, according to my rules anyway. One has to get ice cream home in a hurry before it melts so that's why I drive, well that's my excuse.
I wore two pairs of pants, stretch work out pants, track pants, two pairs of socks, gum boots, a short sleeved top over a tight body con slip with a Country Road zip up wool jacket, scarf, and fingerless gloves. I'm prepared for anything. I look like the Michelin Man but do I give a shit ? Not a chance.
When the cheery young woman at the checkout asked me how I was, I answered one word,
" Freezing "
" I love Winter " she replied. And smiled.
I really looked at her then, she of the twenty something, eyelashes that are not hers that stick out like chapel hat pegs and a whole life in front of her full of babies and sunny days with smiles. Given that my last remaining Aunt is almost ninety seven I figure I have maybe forty summers left. And forty Winters. I said not a word and left with my box of Paddle Pops, chocolate of course. That way I figure I have two of the main food groups covered, dairy and chocolate.
I thought about her comment on the two minutes it took me to drive home.
" How could anyone LOVE Winter ? " I thought.
Melbourne in Winter is sharply cold. Iron grey days with rain and biting winds, dripping trees that manage to aim droplets of cold water down between your collar and neck. The yard is a wet muddy shambles, covered in soggy leaves that look like lumps of dog Doo da and probably are. The Hills Hoist is drooping, bowed down with wet washing as if in it itself it can't take the weight and the cold.
I suddenly remember the washing line in Yorkshire when I was fourteen, and the cloth nappies of my new born baby sister that froze solid on the line and could stand up on their own when I brought them inside. And the coal fires which it was my job to light in the chilly mornings. Tightly twisted newspaper sheets then kindling and then the precious coal that had to be fetched in a bucket from the coal shed. Luckily it had a door on the inside of the house and one outside unluckily for the poor coal man that delivered it.
Lighting the coal fire was an art in itself sometimes needing the use of bellows or sour morning breath if one was feeling lazy. There is nothing like the warmth and look of a good coal fire where cold hands can be stretched out in front of and muffins and bread can be toasted on long tridents of metal. Then cooled and buttered with butter so thick you can see your teeth marks in it. Or spread with dripping and salt, the dripping from the Sunday Joint or bought at the Co-Op for next to nix.
I hated the cold when we first arrived in England from Australia. It seemed like eons ago that we had been living on the Gold Coast with sun, sea and sand and now we were living in cold so vicious that it nauseated me and curled me into a foetal position in bed. The hot water bottle barely breaking the wall of ice and dampness surrounding my chittering body. I will never forget that intense cold feeling.
I want to move to Queensland every Winter spent in Melbourne. And a few times I have. Moved. But always return. My children and grand children live here. No contest. So I gird my loins and suffer the Winter cold, the cruel winds, the hail, the frost, short days, long nights, cold aching hands, the wet collars because I don't have a choice.
I sit in front of bright lights that are supposed to help with S.A.D. I make my home as cosy as possible with throws and lamps and electric blanket and make scones and home made soups, braises with slow cooked lamb and lots of onions and Yorkshire Puds and gravy with hot sauce. I have a heater in my bedroom and a gas fire in the lounge. I put up my Winter Curtains of velvet that hang richly blocking out the sight of streaming, steaming Windows.
And I read novels. I read somewhere that novels help with the depression of S.A.D. Bright lights help as do Anti Depressants and getting out in the winter sun when it shows itself. And telling yourself that Winter ends and Spring will arrive as it always does.
S.A.D. Is a serious condition. It's a form of depression and takes strange forms. Last year I was obsessed with tissues. I had to check my supply of face tissues, check the levels in the box, keep spare boxes on hand. Don't ask me why I had this obsession but I read of one man who had to ring his Father and get him to come over whenever he went to cook lamb chops. He would literally say to his Dad,
" Dad you better come over I'm scared of lamb chops again "
So I would never say I Love Winter, because I don't.
