groundhogs vs. vampires
Punxutawney Phil--that renowned prognosticator of spring--has precious little to say about the approach of winter. No casual musings. No scientific forecasts. No definitive E.T.As. Why would he? While the rest of us partake in such riveting exchanges as, "It sure is nippy," or "Cold enough for ya?", one stout groundhog snuggles into his favorite armchair, deep within his burrow, reading Beatrix Potter by firelight and binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. As groundhogs do.
But, here in the Fitzgerald home, we don't need a giant rodent--adorable though he may be--to tell us when winter is nigh. The lack or presence of shadows doesn't help, and the date on the calendar has nothing to do with it, not really. Winter is a state of mind, a state of dress, a state of anticipation...first for the holiday hoopla, then for, well, the end of winter, with or without the dubious wisdom of woodchucks. In the Pacific Northwest, there are four signs that the shivery season is upon us:
Actual shivering and the auto-pilot instinct to pair every ensemble with a sweater.
An epiphany, whilst making breakfast, that it is eerily dark outside, followed by a déjà vu feeling that hits come dinnertime.
A mental manifestation of Radio Christmas providing the soundtrack to nearly every activity, occasionally leaking out audibly by means of humming, singing, or the frenetic drumming of Sleigh Ride upon one's lap or tabletop.
The return of the varied thrushes, either because this region provides their preferred climate and seasonal delicacies or because they are afraid of their own shadows and risk little chance of spying them here until spring.
Five o'clock yesterday evening, I peeled back the curtain, a frosty draft instantly assaulting every non-sweater-swaddled part of me. I squinted into the dusky realm outside. The thrushes who had, for the past two days, gobbled seed scattered over porch and yard, were now gone, retired for the night. I let the fabric fall once more against the dreary darkness and the chill as the smell of cayenne and nutmeg and the sound of a familiar hummed melody wafted from the kitchen. With Halloween less than a week away, Dennie, too, had already been bewitched by the carols of Christmas.
In the Pacific Northwest, there are four signs that the shivery season is upon us. Check, check, fa-la-la-la-check, and check. Today, as Dennie and I dressed for work, the temperature outside was twenty-six degrees. The temperature inside was only moderately less brisk. Without the benefit of Phil's esteemed observational skills, what can we say but, it sure is nippy out there. Cold enough for ya?
Like fiction's most notorious bloodsuckers, groundhogs don't particularly enjoy being forcibly thrust into sunlight. Unlike vampires, however, rodent-kind will invariably walk away from such an ordeal looking notably less...ashen. So, while Phil industriously hones his stake-whittling skills--dreaming of a fanciful, heroic career more gratifying than playing an annual round of I Spy with his shadow--we Fitzgeralds are ready to announce that winter in Washington is officially here. And, mitten-in-mitten with this revelation comes the exciting awareness that our household’s most anticipated celebration of 2023 is only fifty-nine days, six-hundred-sixty minutes, and thirteen seconds away.
Not that anyone's counting. Much.
Special thanks to Magiclily, WatercolorByKr, Christine Fleury, giraffecreativestudio, Confetti Clips, and AQVAMARYPRO for the illustrative elements used in this post.