My thoughts on this slushy day.

My Dad still gets really bad post-Christmas let-down. I think he passed this on to his children when we were little. I remember feeling so unhappy Christmas was over; it was hard to handle. And my dad still feels this way. He was listening to Christmas music for two weeks after. My mom finally pulled the plug on that one. (She let him listen to just one more Christmas record after dinner, and then that was it).

I know most of that let-down has to do with childhood nostalgia. That happy, naive, childhood sense of wonder, excitement, bliss, completely devoid of adult troubles such as work, deadlines, responsibilities, shopping, etc.

This isn't to say being a kid is easy. I am so glad I am not a kid anymore, because it was very difficult. Adults who go on and on about how kids have it so easy: just stop. Being a kid is so hard. You are so dependent, fragile, confused, and bound by what adults say you can and cannot do. And other kids can be cruel and terrible, because they're going through the same thing. It's frustrating. Plus, you can't just go and eat a cookie whenever you want.

Today, it's "slushing" outside. And this reminds me of another reason why I would get post-Christmas let-down: Snow after December kind of sucks. I associate Valentine's Day with this kind of weather, where it's cold but not that cold, and you can't see the snowflakes falling, because it's more like rain, and when you go outside, you get soaked right through your boots and jacket. You can't build a snowman. You can make a snowball, but it's not the kind you throw at someone because it's like getting slapped with a half-frozen tomato. You can't play outside at all. And you have to eat fish-sticks for dinner. (Okay, the fish-sticks are just another random, childhood free-association with Valentine's Day for some reason).

I'm not going to bother googling this because I'm that lazy, but I'll just throw this out there: perhaps Valentine's Day was invented by New Englanders to break up the grim monotony of slushy-winter a little bit.

Me on Valentine's Day, circa 1987-ish.

I wasn't there when this happened, but about twenty-three years ago, my Mom tried to open a jar of homemade preserves on a day like today, and the whole damn thing broke in her hands and cut her up pretty bad. My sister Ingrid was home sick from school that day, and she had to go out in this kind of horrible, slushy, cold rain, to tell our neighbor, because she was only about seven or eight years old. She had a sore throat, and could barely speak as she cried and yelled for help. Our neighbor, afraid of the sight of blood, wouldn't come over. My Mom ended up having to get a lot of stitches. She wore this funny bandage cast over her hand for what seemed like months afterwards, and I remember feeling vaguely disturbed by the whole thing, despite her attempts to shield her children from the horror that is the realization that one's mother is not infallible or unbreakable. 

This is a bleak time of year. About five years ago, I read Ethan Frome. It was my first Edith Wharton, and people told me: "Oh, that's way different than her other books." Which kind of means: "Oh, that's not as good as her other books." But I didn't really have anything to compare it to, and I read it anyway. It's very good. And yes, it's way different. But it does a great job of capturing that sad, forlorn quality that's attached to New England winter. 

And yet, I won't complain too much about it. This is home, after all. I'm protective of New England's bad/weird weather. It's not like we're known for our sunny skies in summer, or temperate winters. Our only "good" season is fall, and it is probably the shortest (or, at least, seems to be the shortest...) But those people on FB who try and make me feel bad about the slush by posting their pictures of sunny skies and palm trees outside their front doors don't make me feel all that jealous. Maybe the older I get, the closer I am to becoming one of those curmudgeon-y, prideful Yankees. Or (more likely) I realize no matter where I live, there will always be a downside... At any rate, I really could not live anywhere besides New England.