This is the season that challenges, and this winter, from the Polar Vortex (that was a new one) to the back-to-back New England mix of snow and freezing rain, has really put us to the test. I’ve already broken two snow scrapers and I’m building a collection of single gloves and mittens. Where that second one always disappears to, I have no clue. I guess the same place those single socks go after nearly every wash.
The season has added other unanswerable queries to my seemingly endless list:
When did my driveway get so narrow?
When did my dirt road become a 16th-century passageway more suitable for a small pack animal than for SUVs, trucks and the FedEx man?
When did the dog become such a wimp that he can’t take a little packed snow in his paw without my personal examination and removal? I didn’t even know Otto the dachshund could raise his paw that high.
Why did I skimp and buy cheap windshield wipers that now seem permanently affixed to the glass? And why does the blue glass spray never spray when you really need it? What’s the point if a little temperature drop or a falling icicle is going to plug that teeny-tiny hole?
Speaking of cars, how on earth did I drop my car keys in:
A. That snow drift;
B. An ice-filled puddle;
C. Between the seats, an impossible place to penetrate with my down-filled mittens on?
All three have happened to me this winter, but fortunately not in rapid succession.
Why can’t I be happier when the thermometer finally hits 35 or 40? Is that because the walking doesn’t get easier and the black ice beneath my feet seems simply to spread rather than abate?
Why can’t I ever remember to stuff Kleenex in my pocket when the wind’s blowing 25 knots? Is that why people slowly walk away from me on Main street? So much for community.
And finally, why does March follow February? Why couldn’t it be May or at least April? I guess we’ll never know.
Mary Breslauer lives in Chilmark and contributes occasionally to the Gazette.