If there was but a single word that could capture my sentiments toward this cruel winter season, that word would be: STOP. I know this is the cycle that we need to endure before the buds of spring can sprout anew. But this cold, gray monotonous downpour of snow and ice is anything but poetic.
As anyone with a chronic pain condition can testify, these cold and stormy days are more than just tedious. They're downright painful. And for everyone else at the very least, it's physically demanding and mentally taxing. Bundle up, shovel out and hope that your car can chug-a-lug it's way to your destination safely. In short, it's a wicked wintry mess.
I tried. I really did. After digging out after the first major storm, I attempted to embrace the beauty of fresh fallen snow and frozen streams with my Canon Rebel grasped by raw gloveless fingers. And after about five minutes in a wind chill of -13 degrees, I trudged back home and got under the covers.
Let's face it. It's an ever-accumulating snowy prison. The few times I've been able to make the journey to the thrift store, I've returned empty-handed. I'm guessing when the roads are treacherous and the temperatures arctic, people aren't in a hurry to drop off donations.
It's completely understandable.
I guess I'm just in desperate need of spring. Spring! With its weekend flea markets, long and leisurely walks that find me stumbling upon an occasional yard sale and thrift stores bursting with freshly donated stock from the great seasonal purge nationally hailed as Spring Cleaning.
But it's not here yet. And tomorrow has yet another wintry mix in the forecast.
Stay warm, thrifters. And do share any news of thrifted loot with me on the comments, that I might live vicariously through your finds until I can borrow a sled dog team to get me out and about.