Web Therapy

I've spent a lot of time ranting about how much I don't like February. Lo and behold, we've reached the final countdown. Only one week left.

March can't come fast enough.
If, like me, You've had just about enough of no daylight, endless snow, and ice death trap sidewalks I have a bit of relief.

Since this horrid month leaves so many of us snowbound and suffering cabin fever, what else can we do but turn to our only hope: THE INTERNET.
Oh internet, which lulls us into the hope that we might not be stuck in sub-zero weather but can instead find solace in digital form.

It's an illusion, of course, but since spring is still at least a few weeks away I've found some sites to help make the time go by faster...I hope.

You've heard of primal scream therapy? Well if you need to let it out, but don't want to scare your pets. Try this on for size.

Feel better? No? Not so much feeling the winter rage, but wish you were in paradise? This one might help. Or it might just make you cry.

Escapism not your cup of tea, but good old fashioned warm fuzzies? Okay, here you go:


Cuteness not working? Maybe abuse of authority would help?

Or you could explore your creative potential.

More of an engineer than an artist? We've got something for you too.

Happy Monday! (Oxymoron? Maybe.)

Good Omen

You know you're working with the right folks when they send you links like this. (Thanks awesome agent Lyndsey.) Lyndsey, the InkWell foreign rights agent tipped me off to the lunar news and also gave me some secret super news, which I'll share when I can.

I've been a moon follower for a long, long time. Considering how frigid and clear the sky is in Minnesota today, we'll be basking in luminescence tonight. Wherever you are tonight, may the first and brightest full moon of the year rain blessings on you and yours.

And when it does, be sure to howl your joy to the heavens. It is the Wolf Moon, after all.

Hibernation is a Better Option

Our brief January thaw (read 30s and streets full of dirt-flavored slushees) departed, leaving us to stare down a slow-moving, mega-cold front which will gift us with a high of 9 degrees on Wednesday.

The anticipation is horrid. Unlike in that movie, The Day After Tomorrow, cold doesn't roar and chase you.



You can't run away. Nope - that real, terrible chill that makes your lungs ache with each breath moves at a slow, yet unrelenting pace. It creeps up, its weight creaking on each step like the killer heading for your bedroom in a horror flick. But there's nothing you can do - the only exit (a plane to Hawaii) is downstairs (not an option unless I want to get fired).

The only viable reaction: burrow under your covers, squeeze your eyes shut, and hope it goes away. Knowing it's coming, that something monstrous is about to slide through your door, casting a long, ominous shadow, sealing your doom.

I hate this part of the winter. So. Much. (Though I think I'd cope if I could hide out in the New York Public Library with Jake Gyllenhal.)

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

December 21: the shortest day of the year, the longest night.

In the northern reaches of the country that I call home, it's a frequent complaint that the long hours of darkness weigh heavily on us. Dark before work, dark coming home. Shadows dog our steps and send us scurrying to bed at hours that feel much too early.

I'd like to suggest that the Winter Solstice, rather than haunting us, offers a vital clue to our existence. Though welcome, light, sun, energy drive us on relentlessly, push us into our busy lives, our too-full days.

The dark is a call to retreat from the world. We tuck into our houses, curl up in heavy blankets. We long to sleep and the darkness calls us to our beds.
The long night isn't something to fear. We rarely take the time to be still, to recuperate, to rest. Perhaps Mother Nature is doing us a favor by wrapping us in night, forcing us to step away from the frenetic pace of life and slumber. Dreaming sweet dreams, becoming anew.

Winter Butterfly

I love the shift in seasons.

I know, I know. Two months ago I ranted about October snow - but I love the shift in seasons when they happen at the appropriate time. Early or late snow freaks me out.

Now that it's December and we're diving toward the Solstice, I'm enjoying the drop in temperatures and the delicate flakes that lazily drift through the air.

Winter has another benefit as well: complete wardrobe transformation.

Living in a true four seasons climate means we Northern folk get to emerge from our respective cocoons not one, but four times a year. Winter, spring, summer, fall - each have their own sets of clothes. When the temperature drops I rifle through my closet, discovering velvety corduroys and woolen skirts long neglected through summer and fall. It feels like a shopping spree occurred where I didn't have to spend any money!

As much as I enjoy pleasant weather, I don't think I could sacrifice this seasonal bliss for year round temperature stability. My brother lives in LA (he reads this blog and I'm about to mock him, sorry little bro!) and just sent his Christmas list - which put mine to shame by the way - in which he requested an "LA winter coat."

Guffaw! There is no LA winter. He needs a light jacket, which I believe will contribute much more to style than defense from the elements.
As for me I'll be packing up breezy cotton skirts and sheer tops, which I'll stow away until it's time for the next cocoon to break open, welcoming spring rain and warm Zephyr wind. Given that I live in Minnesota, it probably won't happen until May.

Oversight

It's one of those days. On the morning walk with dogs, leaves glittered with frost. Winter's approach wraps around me like a cloak and all I want to do is hibernate.

My brain's creativity has already departed for napland. So all I can offer today is the Halloween creature feature I somehow missed in my week of spooky posts:

Night of the Living Dough

Octobrrrr

We lost fall. I don't know how it happened.

After the warmest September on record, October arrived in a cloak of winter. Temperatures dropped 30 degrees overnight and this morning:
The first time it happened was Saturday, but I'd hoped it had been a fluke. But today there's no deluding myself. Winter is here.
Minnesota has a reputation for being a frozen wasteland 11 months out of the year, but that's a lie. It's only a frozen wasteland in January and February (okay and sometimes March). Most of the year we have glorious weather.

And autumn is the best of all. But this year we're missing it and it's breaking my heart. Leaves blanketed in snow are still green. I haven't walked along the Mississippi to gaze at sun-dappled reds, golds, and bronzes reflected in the river's surface.If you need me, I'll be sulking.

March Goes Out Like a Disgruntled Carnie

This morning my car looked like it had been attacked by someone wielding an ash-flavored slushee. All day the sky has spit chunks of icy rain, littering the ground with treacherous, near-invisible slick spots.

I know this is all part of the winter to spring transition, but I much prefer robin spotting and tree buds.

Winter Sun

February 1.

We've made it. January is gone. I don't know whether I'd go so far as to call January the most challenging month of the year - but in my book it's close. This year in particular, when we only had one day above 32 degrees and far too many below zero, I welcome January's departure with a hearty hurrah.

Yesterday, when the long-awaited thaw finally arrived and 45 degrees felt like being baked on a tropical beach, the hard packed snow was cut through with rivers of slush and innumerable tiny cricks that flowed along the sidewalk.

But that was yesterday. When winter returned overnight and hung around to greet February, all that abundant melting froze. Now the sidewalks are sheets of ice that make dog walking an extreme sport.

The point of all this ranting (though I do believe ranting is a valid end in itself)? As I shuffled (the only safe way to move on the ice paths that line my neighborhood) along with my two dogs this morning, I realized how unfortunate it is that my eyes had to stay on the sidewalk.

The winter sky deserves more attention. A stark wash of blue. The sun pale and always a little hazy. Austere colors made all the more striking by the snaking dark branches of leafless trees that break up the endless expanse above. And at night. Ah night. The stars glitter more brightly against that cold black canvas. Light and oblivion.

Winter conditions draw our eyes down. Stomping boots, breath that materializes before us and then fades away, treacherous slipping feet as we try to make our way forward. Hesitant, irritable, impatient for the spring.

And winter's grace escapes us.

Dangerous though it may be, I'll be looking up more from now on. It's worth the risk.