Silver White Winters That Melt

On a rare bender for February in Detroit, the sun has shone for the past two days straight.  I can almost hear people whistling.  Driving home from Big Parking Lot Hospital yesterday evening, I caught a smidge of sunset in my rear view mirror.  At first, I thought it was an air-brushed sunset scene on the guy's van behind me.  Another glimpse assured me it was THE sun setting in the sky with actual variation in color, tone and texture.   You know in Goonies, when Sloth realizes that there is such a thing as a Baby Ruth?  And he smiles diagonally and shakes his chains in delight.   That's how I felt.  

I'm not one to talk about the weather.  If put in a position to small talk, the weather is usually my last resort.  When I small talk about the weather I have to admit that I have nothing interesting to say about any other topic in the world. It's a declaration of boredom.

Except in Michigan.  In Michigan, during the 11.5 months of winter, talking about the weather is actually interesting.  It's not a topic for small talk either. It's a topic for deep, meaningful discussions.  My sister and I often discuss the weather.  She hates the cold and has loved the sun and warmth her entire life.  We're like a winter support group for each other.  We help each other cope with the dull malaise brought on by an endless parade of grey sky, bone-chilling wind, and days as long as a hyper kid's attention span.  

You don't realize how much the absence of sunshine affects you until you wake up--on the very rare occasion--to a blue morning sky filled with sunshine.  All of a sudden, you can get out of bed.  No problem!  Coffee tastes better.  Your sweater is softer.  The freezing morning air feels refreshing.  Look at my frozen breath!  It's so pretty.  Hey Mr. Homeless Man, here's a dollar for you, to "buy bus fair" to "get to work!"  Yes, "God bless you, too!" Look at the big, puffy clouds, they're shaped like cinnamon buns and baby chicks and spinning dreiedels! 

Yesterday, after parallel parking my car onto a patch of ice, I called my friend John to find out how he celebrated his birthday the day before.  John is in med school with me.  He's an interesting guy with interesting things to say.  Lately, though, he's been looking really tired and red-eyed.  He told me he bought himself a full-color spectrum sun lamp.   What an AWESOME gift!  The gift of sunlight.  The gift of joy and life and hope.  What a smart guy.   We talked about S.A.D.S. (Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome--an actual, diagnosable mental illness).  The sun lamp may be the only thing standing between him and going Swedish.

Right now, I'm sitting at my desk, looking up to the clear, azure sky.  I'm pretending it's late Spring, filled with fuzzy green buds, innocent yellow daffodils and the sound of tires in the parking lot spinning, trapped in knee-deep mud.