Seasonal Amnesia
Cheryl Unruh
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Two weeks ago, when the high temperature hit 70 degrees, forecasters warned us, in unison, that the good-weather party was about to end.
So, when sleet clinked on the gutters of Emporia homes at 11 a.m. the next morning, it was not a big surprise.
We’d heard the forecast, and besides, we know from experience that sleet happens in November.
But our minds have been elsewhere since last winter — we’ve harvested wheat, planted iris, gone fishing.
We’ve eaten funnel cakes, cotton candy, kettle corn. We’ve read novels, ridden horses, carved pumpkins.
This batch of icy weather didn’t occur out of context, but still, it takes us a while to relearn the ways of winter.
Most of us had forgotten how noisy sleet can be as it pelts our homes. It sounds like a spray of BBs against the siding.
Especially after the warm week we had, it took us awhile to reconcile ourselves with ice, snow, wind chill and freezing thunder.
Kids spent that first afternoon looking for mittens, adults for ice scrapers.
We had forgotten that out-of-control feeling we get when anti-lock brakes stutter. We wondered whether those brakes would stop us before we slid into a Chevy Suburban.
The truth is, we don’t recognize the value of traction until we discover a patch of polished ice that puts our tires in a tail spin.
So, we love the red-brown grit that the city tosses onto the streets. It keeps our vehicles from swimming on the roads and it eventually melts the ice and the snow.
But then the splattered slush becomes white scabs on the sides of our cars. That deicer turns a vehicle into a salt lick.
Yes, we had forgotten so many things about winter. Memory is only as long as a season.
We are being reintroduced to the whine of a tight and cold car engine. We feel that same tightness in our bodies as we hunch behind the steering wheel while the motor idles.
In the car, we are forced to remember the waiting period for warmth. I always ask politely: “Mr. Heat, please.”
But politeness matters not — hot, dry air is a long time coming. First Mr. Heat has to exhale all that cold air he’s held in his lungs all night before he can get around to generating warmth.
Since last winter, we had forgotten the coldness of car seats, and that straight-jacket feeling of wearing both a bulky coat and a seatbelt.
When temperatures plunge into the teens so suddenly, we are surprised when freezing air crawls up the leg openings of our jeans.
And when cold air attacks, it is simply everywhere: invading your neckline, slipping under your coat at the waist, freezing the curve of your ears.
Everything vibrates at a lower level in wintertime, and some things barely move.
Fingers become red and less pliable. Your mind wills your fingers to bend, but thoughts are not as powerful as sub-freezing temperatures.
During the season’s first snowstorm, we are always shocked at the blinding whiteness of it all. We watch the tiny flakes fall as light as a wink, and we wonder how many millions of snowflakes cover the lawn, how many scrunched up flakes it takes to build a snowman.
We had forgotten about puddles of water on the entryway floor and cold, wet socks. We had forgotten about sore throats, Kleenex and chapped lips.
Those winter memories are returning as cold, hard facts.
Now the sun rises on frosty mornings, and I’ll bet that most of us can’t even recall the fierceness of the August sun, how the waistbands of our jeans can become heavy with sweat or just how quickly chocolate melts inside of a sun-baked car.
• “Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net. Cheryl Unruh can be reached at cheryl@flyoverpeople.net.