The Eternal Winter Of My Discontent

To say that I am not a fan of winter is vast understatement, like saying I'm not a thumbscrews afficionado. It is Nature's cruelest torment. And this one has been never-ending. We had snow on the ground at the beginning of November and the temperatures and I have been bitter ever since. As we head into March there is no respite in sight. I have reached the end of my frozen rope. If it doesn't warm up immediately, my own nuclear meltdown will hasten spring.

Everything in our world has a purpose. So what is the point of winter? Why would the great, wondrous design of things include a prolonged period of time in which everything dies and icy blankets of frost cover the land and the animals have no recourse but to hibernate? Man was not meant to shiver and cringe against his environment. It's like Mother Nature's menopause or something. But without the hot flashes, which would be more than welcome right about now.

So people who go around saying they like winter mystify me. I have no respect for them. In fact, I think they should be killed, or at the very least forcibly deported to Antarctica, where they could live happily among their penguin brethren out of muffed earshot of the rest of us saner folk.

But the winter activities are fun, the winter freaks allege. Snowmobiling, skiing, skating and ice-fishing are delightful pastimes, they claim. They are lying. I fail to grasp the appeal of roaring through the crystalline, pristine wilderness on an ear-splittingly loud machine that leaves wide, spoiling tracks wherever it goes, ruining a scene that I concede looks a lot lovelier than it feels, as long as I can view it from inside with the heat cranked up to supersolar whilst sipping a steaming cup of lava-hot chocolate. Skiing, a deranged sport in which normally sentient beings strap boards to their feet and hurtle death-defyingly down a slope violates my most fundamental life's motto, 'Never plummet anywhere'. Skating is silly because if we were meant to stand on blades, we would've been born with knives for feet, and ice-fishing is the most ridiculous endeavour ever invented, since invariably it melts in the car before I can get it home.

No, there is nothing good about winter. Clearing the walk keeps you fit, you say? Tell that to the thousands of people who drop dead of coronaries in their driveways each year, still clutching their chests and their shovels, fit to be fitted for coffins. Being Canadian makes you hearty, you proudly contend? Not if it's no longer beating.

The doom-sayers are always getting our hopes up. Where is this global warming they gravely promise? Bring it on, I say! Why should the polar ice caps get to melt while the snow here is still up to my hollyhocks? I read to my horror that the hole in the ozone layer is closing over as the atmosphere treacherously heals itself. I run through the streets daily, determinedly spraying aerosol cans over my head. Al Gore is just one more lying politician. I'm glad he didn't get to be president even though everybody voted for him.

Spring literally can't get here soon enough for me. I hunker down grimly and count the frigid days. Soon, please God, I will spy that first blessed blade of new green grass.

In the meantime, the winter wind can blow me.