I read in the new that the Great Lakes are 95% frozen over. The last time that happened was in 1979. I remember the winter of '79 and it sucked. Granted, it wasn't a snowy winter and nothing in comparison to the year's prior Blizzard, but '79 was a bitch due to the constant cold.

We all have snippets of clear memories that are with us forever. The one I have from '79 was standing in my 9^th grade homeroom, reeling off half assed the Pledge of Allegiance, while looking out the window. Out there in the neighborhood was this. The sun had barely come up over the horizon, casting a sickly light yellow on the layers and layers of old, gray ice that had built up over the weeks. Ice on branches, ice on the street, ice on the sidewalks, ice on the snow. It looked like a two inch glacier was poured in place. Ugh. On top of that, Goff Jr High never did believe in comfortably heating the building, so it was cold in that classroom.

I stood there, lamenting the fact that April, late April when things get much better was a WHOLE TWO MONTHS away. When you're younger it takes forever to get to the next month. Still, I felt I was justified in complaining, not that it did any good but I wasn't alone in getting things off my chest, everyone hated that winter.

Then as now, I tend to hibernate in winter. I won't go out unless I have too. I once was reminded by a childhood friend I'd decline to come out and “hang out” if it was too cold. I told him I don't remember saying that, to his dismay, but I then said, “It sounds like something I would say.” Back then, I preferred to wrap up in an afghan and watch Laverne and Shirley. If the heat came on, my brother and I would dive towards the vent where it would come out of. At night, my bed had the additional cover of a Coleman sleeping bag. It was all good because I hated feeling cold and I was susceptible to it in spades. If you shook my hand then, or now, in winter, at the right time, it's like shaking hands with a zombie. My hands and feet freeze.

Today, I'm the same way, or rather I've returned to it. In my twenties, I would be on SugarLoaf in western Maine, freezing my butt off and falling down on a ski slope, but I managed to tolerate that biting cold. Or I'd say “yes” to going out on a January night to Providence club, only to leave at 1 AM to hit up a breakfast joint and come home around 4. Cold? So what. Tailgating at Gillete in December, drinking cold beer, I did it.

Not anymore.

Today, I was wrapped up in a blanket and I had on my favorite wool socks on while I watched bobsleds fly down hill on NBC. If the heat comes on I drape my arm over the edge of the couch to feel it swirl by. On my bed is a TechLoft quilt when I finally go to bed.

I am 14 again.