A letter to Captain Winter

Dearest Captain Winter:

I’m writing you on this lovely snow-covered morning because I just watched the forecast for the next few days and saw, with surprise, that you are blanketing my part of the world with another 2-4″ of snow this evening. I feel like this is some kind of sick joke you are playing. Currently, the forecast calls for a 45 degree afternoon, which makes us bleak Maine people hopeful, only to have you crush our hopes and dreams later in the day. As of right now, to get my mail, I have to climb Mt. Everest. I mean, literally, I feel like I should pack snacks for this endeavor. My car is out of windshield washer fluid but I don’t dare get more, because prior to today, the notion of standing outside for two minutes, pouring this shit into my vehicle, makes me want to punch someone in the face. Same goes for gas, some days, I put $3 in my gas guzzling Land Rover, just so I won’t have to stand outside and freeze in place. You’ve managed to send my chickens into a series of full-fledged panic attacks, because every time they think they get a chance to see the sun, you send another storm their way, making their outdoor area virtually inaccessible. (And, I’m sick of shoveling that shit, so there.) So every morning, I slide down my deck stairs and proceed on my daily nature hike, just to bring them their fresh water for the day. This 5 minute task has turned into an epic adventure. One that makes me want to put them all in the back of my car and send them packing. When I eventually reach the chicken coop, these ladies send ME into a full-scale panic attack because I realize what cleaning out their coop will entail later on in the week because they just won’t stop pooping everywhere.

Don’t even get me started on my dog, who runs with vigor into the polar ice caps of our backyard, only to discover that he immediately sinks two feet into the ground and then just sits there, looking at me horrified. And I’m all like: “Yea buddy, you’re on your own there. Good luck with that. I’m going in the house where it’s warm.”

Now three years ago, when I moved here, maybe it’s four now, I stopped counting, I LOVED this crap. Snow days: give em’ to me. Blizzards: bring it on. Snow banks: cool as f*ck. But things were different then. I didn’t have a job. Emma was still tiny so the talking back was a lot more minimal. Miles was an infant so he just slept all day. And I used my time really wisely: Bravo TV re-runs all day, smashing bags of cookies into my face, maybe getting off the couch to pee, maybe not. I mean, life was simple then. I could stay inside all day and just marvel at Josh shoveling our ultra long driveway, all while sending him my loving vibes. I had yet to embark on my urban farming stupidity: no chickens, no dogs, no bees, no nothing. And so: life was amazing.

These days, the idea of a snow day makes me want to stick a hot poker in my eyeball. Why you ask? Why don’t I play outside with my children like a good mom should and laugh at their awesomeness???? Because during snow days my children turn into horrible, dreadful, tiny micro people who just shout at each other, me, the dog, the walls, the TV, everything. They can’t even make eye contact without lifting the octave of their voice to extreme new heights. I can’t send them outside to burn off energy because then I will have to go outside with them and I have yet to invest in items like: gloves, winter boots, a winter jacket. I’m still holding on to the idea that global warming will pull through for me and create an environment where ugly snow boots just aren’t part of society. Plus, I hate being cold. I have a god damned heart condition which makes heating up impossible. Unless I can stand outside in my flip-flops with a bottle of red wine and a straw, I want no part of it. My father-in-law thinks I’m hilarious. He just doesn’t understand why I don’t own the essentials. I keep telling him: “I’m not ready to be that Maine yet.”

And so dearest Captain Winter, I plead with you to let us have some better weather. I’m training for my first and maybe only marathon and I would really love to not make a raging fool of myself. Everyday you drop your fluffy presents on my face, I have to run on my treadmill, which just kills a little bit of my soul each time. I need some Vitamin D on my skin. I need to feel the sunshine as I run. I need to not slip on the ice again and have my husband lecture me about footwear. I also need to not throw my ice coffee into the air for the fourth time while falling to my death while almost breaking my hip.

It’s time for you to move on and let Queen Spring come hang for a while. I hear she’s pretty cool.


You’re super.


Your biggest non fan ever, Jenny

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