When water lines freeze and cars are cranky in the morning because it is so darned cold, a solution needs to be found. It’s winter, we live in the Rockies, and sooner or later, this is what we can expect. Though, I wouldn’t mind a little global warming if it would just confine itself to January and February.
The fresh blush of holiday cheer and comity is gone, it’s back to work, scraping the windows while the car (which didn’t want to get up either) slowly gets its circulation going, too. Kids, who seem impervious to cold when they play, whine about waiting outside for the bus because their cellphones are too hard to operate with gloves on, I guess.
I don’t relate well to such things at my age. If the ground isn’t white, it’s brown, a monotonous landscape that won’t cure itself for another two to three months. Sigh.
If you feel a bit sluggish in the depth of winter, take some solace in not being alone. This is a real disorder, and I’ve always felt that understanding a problem is the first step to getting over it. And, boy, does my peer group get over it. The diagnostic manual for mental disorders terms it “seasonal affective disorder” or, SAD, which is just so appropriate. It was described in medical writings in the 6th century in Scandinavia — except for people with Icelandic heritage who by genetic default have very low rates no matter where they live. Aren’t we an interesting species?
The bottom line: The further north you live, the worse it is. There appears to be a link to low vitamin D levels which we can produce endogenously with sunlight, so that makes sense with our short days and less time outside.
There are local solutions, but this list is sort of dull: Eat stuff like fatty fish, eggs and meat. Get some vitamin D-fortified milk. Whoopee.
Tanning beds don’t offer the UVBs that trigger vitamin D synthesis, so while you’ll look good, you’ll still be depressed.
Or, get out of town and get into the sunshine! My group here in Junction didn’t figure this out overnight, but we got it right once we did. In the days when our kids lived at home, it was up and at ’em every day, off to work and school, practice after school, homework after dinner, games and church on the weekends, collapse at 10 p.m. Our boys were the center of our social and private lives. Still today, the people we run around with are the parents of our kids’ friends. So many years of watching from the sidelines, then off as a group for pizza or burgers so that we could play a little, too. One day we realized that our lives had come down to standing on the sidelines of our children’s lives, and that we deserved to have a life as well. They were thriving with all that play time; wouldn’t we as well?
Skiing was discussed and discarded as not mutual enough and too expensive for many. Besides, the point was a change of weather, not more of it. On taking an inventory of our group’s interests, we discovered our commonalities: Most play golf (at some level); some play recreational tennis; and everyone showed an aptitude for drinking and gambling. We named ourselves The Sideliners.
We settled on Mesquite, Nev. Green grass, modest weather in January. It’s a break from short, cold days that brings solace and joy to endure the rest of the window-scraping season. We get to wear shorts comfortably, not like the diehards you see in mountain communities who do it just to challenge the weather, or because they lost an autumn bet. For a few days, it’s warmth on white legs, a blush on pale cheeks.
The first year we went down on a Thursday, after work, with a Sunday return. The next year, we left Thursday after lunch. Then Thursday morning. Now it’s Wednesday morning. Come on, let’s go play!
Ten to 15 couples, respected and upright members of our community. And then we hit the Mesquite city limits. No kids, dogs, work, employees, phones, computers, tethers of any kind to the life we lead in front of our children.
The effect this little trip has on our biochemical status could be measured by the terminal drop in mental gloom and rise in the general animation of character. We have characters. Every year someone reaches escape velocity and the incident goes into the Winter Trip annals for retelling year after year.
No one has ever been arrested, seriously hospitalized or divorced, and people who come keep coming back. We have the solution for the winter blues, and I prescribe a liberal January application.
I think that we don’t stop playing because we get old. We get old because we stop playing. And boy, it helps to not have the kids looking over your shoulder while you’re at it.
Mark Sandstedt (sandstedtm@gmail.com) of Grand Junction has spent 22 interrupted years as a pharmaceutical representative — and has had 11 other careers as well.
