Do you want to build a snowman?
This week, I was compelled to embrace the winter weather (read: arctic). It happened like this: I got on an elevator the other day and complained about the cold. A total stranger rolled his eyes at me and said, “Geez. You know where you live, right?”
That’s when it hit me: I live in Pittsburgh! The revelation should not have been that astonishing. I guess I was in denial. Now, I’ve been searching for a way to enjoy the weather instead of curse it.
As I kid, I used to revel in the snow. I only remember being cold one time as a child. Once, during a sled-riding incident, snow went down my pants. I remember the ice being so cold it burned. Trust me, you never want to feel that burning sensation in your nether regions. My snow-covered crotch didn’t stop me from going down the hill again.
We used to laugh and play in the frozen tundra known as Pittsburgh. I guess there’s a big difference between sliding down a hill backward on a sled and sliding down a similar hill, also backward, in a car. Building a snowman because you don’t have to go to school is much different than scraping ice off the windows because you HAVE to go to work.
I like being outside; I just don’t like being cold. I realized that there are two kinds of people in the world: Outdoor People and Indoor People, just like cats. I am an Outdoor Person. Make no mistake, I am not an outdoorsman. That title comes with a level of athleticism to which I am incapable. I don’t hunt or fish, unless it’s hunt for bargains and fish for compliments. P.S. I look absolutely fantastic in my new sea foam green sweater, which I got on sale for a very modest price.
But I digress, like I do. I don’t do anything fun in the winter anymore. I haven’t gone skiing or sledding in quite a while. It all seems so dangerous all of a sudden. Last year, I slipped on the ice and came down hard. It was like a cartoon. My legs went up and out in front of me and I came down on my backside with a resounding thud. I thought I broke my butt. My posterior was sore for a week. Winter sports have been replaced by my fear of breaking body parts.
I seem to remember glorious days in the snow. The sky was blue, and the snow was white. We were running around, but it was 30 to 40 degrees. Now, I’m driving to work, and it was 15 degrees. There’s a big difference between 40 and 15. I guess that’s what I’m getting at. There is a big difference between being a kid and being an adult (over 40 or under 15).
If I’m going to survive another winter in Pittsburgh, I’m going to have to find that kid again and let him build a snowman.