From My January Journal

The first real snow of the season arrived overnight. Not too bad to wait until January 19th for such an event. Not too much snow either, maybe just shy of three inches here. But we’ve been in the deep freeze for over a week, and I fished the seasonal affective disorder (SAD) light out of my desk drawer just now to provide some positive rays while I write. January is not my favorite month! With apologies to all the winter enthusiasts out there, I could do without this thirty-one day sojourn. 

I am mindful that I risk sounding a bit whimpy in this confession. Yet it’s true. One can appreciate living where there are four distinct seasons, and even see the beauty in a fresh fallen snow; yet still not care for January. I think my distaste for the year’s inaugural month is in part hereditary. My mother always said she was glad to see January move on. For a number of years she and Dad joined the multitude of snow birds who converged on warmer climates January through March. They tried Florida, Texas and Arizona. Maybe someday, though Arizona would be my preference of those options.

Speaking of snow birds, my weekly travels this year have taken me past a group of Sandhill Cranes whom I’m thinking are confused. These dudes have set up their winter quarters in southern Indiana. They feast off the leftovers in the cornfields and take shelter in the nearby Muscatatuck National Wildlife Refuge. I don’t begrudge them their winter camp, but I can’t help but think flying a couple more states south would provide more comfortable quarters. Yet, there they are flying all about or standing tall in the fields as I drive past. Silly birds!

July has thirty-one days, as do March, May, August, October and December. Yet none of those months seem to drag along quite like January. Why is this? Confinement is partly my answer. Even during a mild winter (which can happen in southern Indiana) January’s weather does not invite outdoor exploration in my book. Walks can be windy, wet, damp (there is a difference) and cold. Darkness settles upon the land at an early hour and doesn’t lift until past going to work time. Maybe there’s just too much indoor time involved with January?

Or, maybe it’s all in my head. But if it is, it’s not just in my head. I’ve met a number of people who have in their heads too. They’re not taking the polar plunge to start a new year, or trekking out to cross country or downhill ski. They’ve hunkered down, closed the blinds early, and taken up the chore of a January hibernation.  You’ll recognize them come Spring. They’re the one’s who need a haircut!

Thank God for Big Ten basketball, that’s what I say. It has delivered me through many a winter over the years – only to lead me into a disappointing (choke choke) Spring. You have to admire the multitudes who pack those meccas like Mackey, the Breslin Center, Pinnacle Bank, Carver-Hawkeye, Minnesota’s Barn and Rutgers’ RAC. Roundball fans are not weather deterred. Even those who find cream and crimson appealing are known to gather for warmth inside an Assembly Hall.

So, with twelve days to go, there are four more Purdue basketball games, two Sundays and Wednesdays at church, four shifts to work at the hospital, a class to teach, a pretty nice gas fireplace at home, and a cadre of books on my Goodreads list – I think I’ll make it. Soon it will be February, which has 29 days this year. By the end of that month I predict the daffodils will have sprouted. It must be time to find the seed catalogue. Happy Winter!