I have a dream of living in Florida one day, only it doesn't involve anything even remotely luxurious. There are no yachts in this fantasy, no palms made of gold, no fruity umbrella drinks, no sun-kissed beauties lying in the sand. Well, there is one beauty actually...she's thin, tall and white, and looks really hot in lots and lots of red.
She is the thermometer.
It's Sunday morning in west-central Wisconsin, I'm in the grocery store, waiting for the bank to open to make a deposit. A grocery store isn't all that bad a place to be on a Sunday early; it's not crowded, still quiet, all the merchandise on the shelves still faced properly; what few shoppers I see are strolling, rather than rushing around, even their children seem unusually calm and placid; store employees gather in contented groups at the end of check out lanes, waiting for something to happen, and for some reason everyone seems freshly laundered, decked out in their Sunday best, content, happy to be there (it's Sunday; if they weren't happy to be there, they wouldn't be). Bakery smells are predominant. Deli food brand new. I don't mind waiting for the bank to open in this environment, and I linger around in the magazine section for a while. I finger through a collection of Oriental recipes, 'skinny' dinners for the slow cooker, and finally bide my time reading the new Jodi Picoult novel, one arm propped up against a vacant cash register.
Pretty soon, though, I get hot and uncomfortable. I haven't moved at all in ten minutes (Gotta say, Picoult lassoed me on page 1) because I'm bundled up in layers: a large woolen parka stretched over a heavy hoodie above a sweater, a black snow cap yanked down past my ears (I'd take it off, but doing so would reveal a frightful nest of bed head...I am not freshly laundered this morning!) and gloves that make me look like Mickey Mouse. I don't normally dress for winter like I'm five years old, but it's 15 degrees below zero right now, and it's unsafe - literally - to venture outside with any skin exposed.
Winter usually isn't this bad, even in Wisconsin. In fact, the last decade the winters here haven't felt much like winter at all. But the last three years have affirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the old man's still got some fight left in him.
All weekend we've been warned of this dangerous free fall toward absolute zero. The media has been feeding us (typically) hysterical headlines drawn in icy blue font colors, designed to ensure everyone gets the point, even those who already live in Florida.
'Polar Vortex!'
"Polar Plunge!
"Life Threatening Deep Freeze!"
Even the normally staid and sensible National Weather Service, in the text of the wind chill warning that popped on my phone, went the hyperbolic route, predicting an 'historic' outbreak of cold.
In this instance, however, maybe it's not hyperbole. This cold snap might very well be historic. It's the coldest it's been, some are saying, since 1994. Interestingly, I remember that particular deep freeze vividly. That was historic. Those weeks in January and February when the temperature never rose above zero have become the place I go in my mind when I'm writing and looking to describe a particularly brutal winter.
15 below zero is bad enough, and tonight they're predicting a low of -25. But the real danger will be the wind chills: -50 to -70 are possible, and at that point skin freezes almost instantly. As a precaution, virtually the entire state of Minnesota has cancelled school classes for Monday; Wisconsin is almost certain to follow suit. You don't want to send your kids out in this. Lots of college campuses, set to resume classes after the holiday break, are being shut down as well, because nobody should be out in this.
Winter is no good for children and no good for adults.
I can admit that there's something comforting about snow and cold this time of year. If we're going to have it at all, winter should feel like winter. A couple of years ago I wrote about the perverseness of 40 degree temperatures and rainy days lasting well into a Wisconsin December, which is what seemed to define the previous decade. So this arctic blast, and all the snow we received last month, at least feels natural.
But I also freely admit that I hate it; I hate winter. The older I get, the more outraged I become by the horrendous, sometimes inhuman conditions which everyone north of the 35th parallel must endure for five to seven months out of the year. Some people love it, I know, but I'd be willing to bet most don't. I think most people deal with it because it's all they know; they've never lived anywhere else and they don't have any other options.
I'm one of those. I'm here because I have to be, for now anyway. I find no pleasure in winter anymore, nor do I associate it with my identity in any way, with being a Midwesterner or Wisconsinite. I don't feel a need or desire to be around for the changing of the seasons, nor does winter do much to accentuate the holidays. In fact, if anything it gets in the way. This Christmas Eve my girlfriend and I had to leave early, get on the road ahead of the worsening weather, and our drive home, which normally takes two hours, took over four, as the road quite literally disappeared beneath an unwrinkled blanket of snow.
So back to my fantasy: nothing fancy, nothing opulent. Just warm. Even moderately warm will do. In this fantasy, I'm not rich, not famous, I'm the same old me, with my little daily routines playing out in temperatures that never sink below 50 degrees. Ever. I want to be in a place where Christmas dinner is not turkey and stuffing, but rather fresh crab and Corona. And I have no problem whatsoever one day being an old pensioner stereotype, rocking the Wii Bowling tournament in a retirement community rec room, with my knobby, chicken white legs and Panama hat and gray chest hair peeking out of an Hawaiian shirt. Just so long as the temperature never drops below 50.
Ever.
I always think about Florida, but that may not be the best idea. The only possible option in the sunshine state would be Miami or the Keys, and just today I read an article about Miami being placed on someone's list of the worst American cities to retire in. High cost of living, high crime rate, et cetera...
Truth is, it doesn't have to be Florida at all. Just above 50 degrees at any time of the year. Southern California? San Diego? (Although the Chargers stole today's AFC playoff berth from the Steelers, so right now I'm hating on San Diego a little.) Maybe central California, on the way up 101 to San Francisco (unless San Francisco beats the Packers). Anywhere in the American southwest would do me just fine as well. It's hot in the summer, yes, but that dry heat isn't nearly so stifling. My girlfriend and I have talked numerous times about Belize for that matter, should we ever find ourselves inclined to live abroad.
I have a few decades before it's going to become an issue, but the time to start planning for it is here and now. My anxiety on the subject is driven in part by my parents' situation. They are elderly, and will most likely live out the remainder of their lives surviving winter. And while it's true that they - like all of us - should feel blessed for each winter they survive, it's not ideal. Not ideal at all. This climate is rough on skin and bones, on backs, necks and joints, on feet, fingers, lips and noses. Even when it's merely 20 degrees outside, the wind can cut through the deepest layers of clothing. I've seen the way my parents suffer, have felt helpless on their behalf, not just in light of the physical assault from brutal cold, not just the difficulty they have just getting around on icy surfaces, but the psychological effects of being buried in snow in a deep and dark December...
Whether winter is any good for children or any good for adults is open to debate. To each his own, I say. But winter is certainly no good, and no place, for the elderly. Any elderly loved ones enduring it should be checked in on frequently. All elderly people enduring it wherever should never be overlooked.
