Windows in Winter

In winter, windows to the outside world are essential because this woman is not walking outside on the snow and ice.  I know hip replacements are allegedly easy.  However, I’d rather not experience one.

Right now I’m sitting in my back room watching the snow fall.  This was supposed to be a quick-moving event, over before dawn.  It is now 10:43 a.m.  The wind has kicked up, so the wind chill factor makes the temps go down—at least on the skin.

I realize I should be used to this by now.  After all, I’ve had eighty-two years of winter, except for the reprieve when we lived in Atlanta.  What heaven the weather there was.  I was warned, when we moved to Atlanta, that people were addicted to their air conditioning and even drove down the driveway to pick up their mail.  I can’t remember finding the heat oppressive at all.  But perhaps that’s just hindsight, as I sit and watch the snow tumble.

When I was a child, we had huge snow falls, up to my chubby little thighs.  I loved the snow then, snowball fights, snowmen, snow forts.  What couldn’t we do with a pile of snow—except eat it after the first day.

I might have become anti-snow when I failed my first driving test, taken during the snow, as I slid off the road into the curb.  Ever since then, driving tests have traumatized me.

But back to my windows.  Nothing much is happening in my backyard right now.  This is my fault.  This year I haven’t been feeding the birds.  I got tired of seeing only little brown wings on my feeder.  Thus I have lost not only those, but also the cardinal, the blue jay, the junco, the woodpecker, the chickadee.  On the other hand, no squirrels. I feel unkind.  Perhaps I should spread some joy by tossing out seeds, at least on the bench free from snow.

Life is more interesting out of my front kitchen window.  I can see the dog walkers, sometimes singly, sometimes together.  How healthy it is to walk a dog in all sorts of weather, and how communal, as dog walkers feel a sense of belonging with other dog walkers.  Unfortunately, you won’t find me among them.  On a nice day, maybe.  But how many nice days are there in the year, especially in this area.  Rain snow/snow rain.  Then there’s picking up dog shit. It was bad enough cleaning the cat’s litter box.

Upstairs in my bedroom, I have a better view of the entire neighborhood.  I can almost see to the “main” street, where the plows might have come through.  That’s a four-way stop, when people pay attention to it.  So it’s best that it’s salted so no one slides into the ditches lining the sides of our roads.

From the bedroom, I can survey the neighborhood traffic, delivery trucks, mainly Amazon, playdate drop-offs, gatherings.  I used to know everyone in the neighborhood, but now the houses have changed hands so many times that I think I’m the odd one out.  Some day, maybe soon, a younger family will occupy this house and make it come alive again.

When it’s nice out, I enjoy walking past houses and remembering who used to live there and what fun we had.  Now I see the accomplishments of the new residents.  Everyone puts up signs celebrating starting kindergarten, graduations, college acceptances and those who joined high school sports teams.  The neighborhood is alive, which is a good thing.

But it’s unusually not nice this winter, so I’m inside, looking out.  Sadly from the side window of my bedroom I overlook the awful neighbors right next to me.  They spend all their time beautifying the outside of their property while they should probably be working on the inside of their souls.  But that’s just my personal opinion from having to deal with their expansionist tendencies over the years.  But, let’s face it, there’s always someone rotten in any neighborhood.

I think I love my bedroom windows the most because I can see the seasons changing from them.  The neighborhood is full of old-growth trees.  True, in winter they’re bare.  But spring comes, and it’s lovely to watch the budding and then the new green before the leaves come fully out.  And in fall I have riotous colors to look at, before the leaves falls. As they have now.

Also I can enjoy both the sunrise and the delicious sunset.  How vibrant they both are, light shining through clouds and then the bright moon at night.  My bedroom is a nature observatory.

I think I sound like a spy.  An old woman, keeping track of goings-on, curtains twitching.  Well, first of all, can anyone picture me having curtains?  Curtains need to be taken down and washed.  Not by this woman.  Sadly, most of the time the neighborhood goes by without me.  My back room is my treasure, where I spend most of the time, working, reading, pondering.  And, of course, wondering if I’m ever going to hire someone to clean the windows.  Probably not.

The question about winter windows is do they keep us from the world, or let the world into us?  I favor the latter.  Wave if you see me.