Life at Brunswick Manor

I have officially quit! Old man winter, an impish little rodent with a vendetta, autumn's fuzzy caterpillars, whatever caused this winter to be... OK! Enough! You win! I have tried, to no avail, to convince myself I love winter. I do, somewhat. There is no such greater exercise of sensory overload than the clean, crisp, unmistakable scent of the first snowfall of the season. If you are lucky enough to live in an area where snow is a certainty every year, you know what I mean. You hear it on the news. You impatiently stand guard at the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the first snowflake dancing it's way from heaven to kiss the last vestiges of fall. You smell it in the early evening air. You awake to a world christened with a magical blue-white glimmer. Overnight, your life has been cleaned and reborn. You are a child again, at least for awhile. Rather quickly, the newness wears off. The blue-white glimmer turns to crusty brown and with every snot-frozen breath, you feel 100 years old. Every bone in your body aches, you curmudgeonly wake each day, pour yourself a cup of coffee, and proceed to give the weatherman "what for" with a vengence equalling that of the wind chill factor. Thank goodness for comfy sweaters and hot, home-made soup. For, if winter is not my favorite season, there are simple pleasures that make it bearable. Dare I say, enjoyable? Hugs always last longer in cold weather. More out of neccessity than pleasure and comfort (but that can be our secret). Extra layers of clothes helps in the deception of one too many holiday feasts. And let's face it, snow days are great at any age, as long as you don't have to shovel. Staying indoors, on the couch, in jammies, eating comfort food and watching old movies all day. What's better than that? Spring!