Fresh Air

Somewhere in Pennsylvania this morning, after much prodding and poking a groundhog stepped out of his resting spot and somebody decided that he could see his shadow.  According to folklore, that means that we will have six more weeks of winter.  Here in the Midwest we're not sure what that means.  On the second day of February, the temperatures are predicted to reach 48 degrees today.  Yesterday was the anniversary of last year's Snowmageddon, which dropped 26 inches of snow in two days and shut down Lake Shore Drive for the first time ever in Chicago.  This year I've only used the snow scraper once and it almost wasn't necessary.  As Tom Skilling likes telling us repeatedly, this is the warmest winter Chicago has had in 80 years.  I've only lost one pair of gloves (so far), in large part because there have been so many days I haven't needed to wear them.  I was worried that the cute pink coat I got for $30 at a secondhand store in October would only last for a month or so because it's not lined in down; instead, I've been able to wear it all but five days this year. 

What does this all mean?  Putting aside all the practical worries of global warming and confused birds messing up their migration plans and flowers coming up months early, I am loving this weather.  I find I have much more energy and motivation when the thought of doing an errand isn't sidetracked by "ugh, but it's so COLD outside!"  I'm walking more, not using the heat in the car as much, and haven't had to fight with layers of long underwear.  Mostly, I'm reminded of how much I love to be outside.  I love fresh air.  I work in a stuffy, dry, hot building and it's so refreshing to get outside at lunch even just for a quick walk around the block.  Having the wind blow my hair and getting a little chill when it goes down my neck.  Squinting from the sun and getting some natural vitamin D.  Feeling the softness of the ground under my feet- not frozen as it usually is at this time of year.  It's all a reminder of the might and potency of nature and it's somehow both humbling and empowering.

As I was driving out to Dad's on Tuesday afternoon, the thermometer on the car read 59 degrees and I rolled the windows down a little to feel the breeze.  I was planning on bringing him into the library and show him some of his favorite videos on YouTube- Singing in the Rain, Kick Your Knees Up Steppin' Time, Billie Holiday in concert, the What a Wonderful World hand-puppet show.  Okay, that last one is my favorite but I tell myself that he likes it too- I don't have a good way to tell for sure.  When I got to Maryhaven, however, I had a much better idea.  I walked up to Dad, wiped up the drool on his chin from the meds the nurse had just fed him, gave him a kiss, and asked him if he wanted to go outside.  He responded with a blank stare, but I thought maybe I could see a twitch in his eyes.  I got some blankets from the laundry room, piled them on his wheelchair and pushed him off the unit.  As soon as we went through the front doors his face softened and I realized that it's probably been four months since he had been outside.  I get stir-crazy after being inside for three hours, and that trait was definitely handed down from my father so I can't imagine how restless and claustrophobic he feels trapped in the nursing home day after day.  I asked him if it felt good to be outside and he nodded his head ever so slightly.  We only stayed out for 10 minutes- he started shivering- but I could tell the whole experience brought him a lot of joy.  Driving home, the sun was starting to set and it was getting cooler but I put on my scarf so I could roll the windows down anyway and feel the fresh air.  Whether or not Puxatawny Phil was right, you'll hear no complaints from me this winter.