I can handle a frozen head, but can you handle Garbage Ball?

That's right, New England. You know I'm ready for you to teach *me* something, but are you ready for me to teach *you* something? Lets re-define winter, shall we?

This last week has been a crash course in how to live in the winter time-- and it just started snowing...

~Lesson #1: Using the Proper Tools~
For the first time in my entire life I went and bought a hair dryer the other night. And it was not to keep my coiffeur in order. It was because as I left the gym after a swim, I realized that I was scaring the locals with my creepy Medusa-icicle-head... not a pretty sight.

I replaced my piddly CA frosty-window scraper in my car with a 2ft one with broom attachment, which I can only assume is for sweeping the heaping mounds of powder off my poor car before jumping in it to drive 50 miles to work every morning.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how many layers I need to wear to work, out and about town, to the gym...from my car to the gym, from the gym to my office, into the woods, out of the woods, into bed, out of bed... And I think I've managed to strategically plant gloves and chapstick in several dozen places where they may be needed at any moment.

~Lesson #2: Basic Physics~
Last week I had to make a mental note to myself about the chemistry of water. "Self: do not empty water bottle outside car door in the morning, because when you come back in two hours you're likely to slip on the inadvertently created icy patch and eat shit."

I drove home in my first snow storm last night- it took me 2 hours. I realized that my basic rule of thumb will be to keep clear of ANYONE who looks like they know LESS about what they're doing than I do.

~Lesson #3: Keeping Toasty Warm~
I'm learning to look at the weather forecast and understand why I should be excited when the temperature is predicted to be a balmy 32 degrees. I know to keep my keys in my pocket so that I can unlock my car doors remotely and keep my hands snuggly warm until the very last second before exposure to open the door.

I exhibited surprisingly unbelievable strategury that I can only figure is innate evolutionary instinct. Walking to lunch the other day, I scouted two paths through the buildings to my destination- one sunny, one shaded. It was obvious to every cell in my body which one I should take, if only to walk those 25 yards- The sunlight was pulling me in like a tractor beam...it was totally visceral and uncontrolled.

~Lesson #4: Accepting My Own Strange Behavior~
I've never been happier staying indoors. I've never been more excited about the fact that my car heater works really, really well and doesn't smell like mouse nest (anyone remember my old Subaru?). I have now, twice, contemplated why someone would spend $199 on a "remote car starter" on sale at a shop on my way to my Physical Therapist.

I've learned to enjoy a few hours of watching football with friends, take delight in how red my nose gets after being outside for just a few minutes, and smile at the sight of the sun setting at, like, lunchtime.

*********
So in exchange, my darling New England, you get to listen to some stories of what winter means to me. Mostly, in CA, winter means December. Everything before it is too damn hot, everything after it I consider early spring. Over these last few weeks, my definition of winter has broadened into one includes elements beyond the holidays and my family's propensity to make them last, like forever, with an unbelievably exhilarating, equally touching, and often exhausting gamut of traditions and events.

So sit down, relax, and let me show you what I can bring to the near-perfect table of yours.

~Stories of Christmas Past~

Holiday dinners at my Dad's house were lousy with tradition- movies, games, big feasts, and lazily playing "'Spirimentos" (one of thousands of made up words from the Jim Weigel dictionary, loosely rooted in the word "Experiments", with a Latin twist), a game where we'd turn on the Xmas tree light and stare at their colorful glare on the ceiling, trying to decipher shapes and characters in the shadows.

Another favorite tradition was Garbage Ball. Because of my Father's extreme disdain for cleaning (there were much better ways to spend your time, after all) we would eat our holiday feast on a disposable table cloth and paper plates with plastic utensils. After dinner my dad would come in and pick up the four corners of the table cloth and wrap the entire dinner and it's remnants into a huge "garbage ball", and carry it out of the house and straight into the dumpster out back. It was a brilliant clean-up scheme, leaving us hours and hours of time to just roll over onto the living room floor and watch movies for the rest of the night, while other families were slaving away in their homes washing dishes and polishing silverware.

And beyond all of that, we have St. Nicholas Eve, celebrated on December 5th. We lay our shoes out before bed and find treats in them when we wake up the next morning. We never believed in Santa Clause growing up, but St. Nicholas was surely real, to the point where I was a little bit freaked out each year to think he could be wandering around our house at night. All good to leave shit in our shoes for us, but please please please don't let me see a strange old guy lurking in the dark!

One stormy December afternoon back in the mid-80's, a substantial pine tree blew down outside our house. My mom saw the tree fall straight toward the living room ceiling where my dad was standing, bracing herself for a tragic end to our holiday season. At the last second, a gust of wind sent the tree a bit to the left, where it literally bounce off our deck and fell to the side of the house, missing our unsuspecting father and roof-line by mere feet. Shortly thereafter, the largest limb was severed, stuck in a stand, and place in our living room, decorated head to toe in large colorful bubble lights and funky ornaments- at the top was a Hari Krisha symbol lit up in bright yellow lights. A "good thing", as Martha Stewart would say, for that was the year we couldn't afford a tree.

We also spend an evening torturing ourselves to sight-read Handel's Messiah with the San Jose Symphony, slapping high-fives as we get the final five minute "Amen" if we haven't lost our place in the score yet- Altos have it particularly rough...oh to be a soprano. We delight in enchiladas and "fruit soup" for dinner on Christmas Eve (WTF? But they are soooo good...), and we spend 30 minutes or so staring at our Christmas tree lit with real, honest-to-god candles. The next morning, our table is set with old-style crackers (I hate the sound and always cover my ears) filled with toys and jokes, and we grub on apple dumplings with tissue-paper crowns on our heads and a silliness that only explosives mixed with pie crust and caffeine can induce. That night, dinner is my Dad's home-made veggie soup and some delicious desert Anna has somehow found time to create.

So there you have it, New England. My holiday season, and winter for that matter, have been a mess of odds and ends strung together that always affected me deeply. I wanted to share them with you because it gets kind of lonely to be the sole owner of these good times and places out here in the east. They are are part of who I am, and some of them may have to be part of our definition of wintery life for me out here. These last few weeks you've managed to bring a new kind of concept of winter to me. I hope you can help me figure out how to meld the two together, so if anything peaked your interest, you let me know...