The blessing of winter amnesia
I'm sure that most people fear losing their memory with age. When it comes to seasons, however, I prefer forgetfulness. After 29 years in Sweden, let me tell you: staying in the present and forgetting summer every existed is the only way to get through winter.
Last night, when I went out for the last evening walk with Mental, the first real cold hit me. Its contrast to the unfrozen ground created a blanket of fog that embraced us as Mental followed the scent of cats and bitches. For the first time since May I remembered: this is what real cold is like.
Long underwear, thick socks and mittens are a must. Dressing in all those layers is tedious for the first few weeks, as is the grayness, the wind and ice. The relief comes when I give up all hope of brightness. Mind and soul will relax, I will sleep longer in the mornings and hibernate as much as obligations of productivity will allow.
When spring finally arrives, it will be like a miracle, like it had never existed before. I'll throw off my heavy clothes like clawing myself out of a grave. But for now, it's time resign myself to being buried alive in knitwear.