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Bewildered Boomer -- Winter doldrums? I have 'em bad
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Bewildered Boomer -- Winter doldrums? I have 'em bad

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Do you enjoy these gray, cold, lifeless days of late? That’s what I thought. Me neither.

Then again perhaps you, not unlike Good Wife Norma, actually look forward to cold and snow and lifeless nature and almost no sunshine at all.

Not me though. No siree.

The boat is huddling alone and frozen in my daughter and son-in-law’s shed in the depressingly brown countryside between Denton and Lincoln. Thank goodness it doesn’t have emotions or I could justifiably be sued for cruel and heartless abandonment.

Regular visitors to my assigned piece of this page on Saturdays are fully aware I howl like a banshee in protest of mowing, edging sidewalks, raking and even picking up the occasional stick in the yard.

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In full disclosure, I must acknowledge the dead zone of winter between New Year’s Day and late March/early April is many times more impossible to bear. At least for me.

What can I say; mind-numbing gray skies above, dormant brown below and the scraggly skeletons of trees in between do not inspire. Birds singing? Nope. Frogs croaking? Nope. Brooks babbling? Nope, especially pea soup Beaver Creek. Signs of life? None that I can see.

Back in youthful days winter was taken up with school, punctuated as frequently as possible with the building of snow forts and the inevitable snow ball fights that followed. We rode toboggans down steep canyon banks and built the obligatory snowmen. Some in my crowd ice skated, but not me. I gave up skating early on after self-inflicting, for all the world to see, the most swollen, hideous black eye in recorded history as far as you know.

We even went spearfishing after chopping holes in the ice with our uncles a couple times. Shallow water below in a backwater teeming with carp made for a memorable, if freezing cold, experience.

I was known to hunt pheasants, rabbits, quail, waterfowl and deer in perfectly awful winter weather well into adulthood. But those days are relegated to memory.

The aches, pains and energy drain of age, compounded by terminal sloth, have muted winters for me into a time to whine, pine for even a hint of sunlight and put on weight while waiting for its merciful end.

Winter in Nebraska is only enjoyable for the lucky few who have somewhere else to sit it out. Somewhere warm and green and sunny. If that’s you please take me, too. I promise to mow the lawn. Might even edge those sidewalks if we leave right away.


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