Don’t Look!

Don’t Look!

By Mark Leitheiser

As you enjoy this fine article, do yourself a favor: don’t look outside. If you do, you will likely see the trifecta of winter misery: snow, cold and darkness. In other words, January. Who in their right mind decided to start a new year with a month like this? It’s not even mid-winter and already we’ve endured bitter cold, coal-black nights and, in case you haven’t noticed, a bit of snow . . . Who is responsible for this calamity?

Blame the Romans. Their first calendar was only ten months long starting with the lovely month of March. Of course, this left a two-month stretch of winter when there wasn’t much going on in the fields, but because of this lull, no one seemed too concerned with names.

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, they seemed to think but you know what they say about idle hands.

Eventually, around 700 B.C. the Roman king Numa Pompilius felt the need to synchronize his calendar with the lunar year and shazam! Januarius and Februarius were born. January was named after Janus, the Roman god with two faces- one looking backward to the past with the other looking forward to the future. Even they didn’t like looking at January! Adding these two cold months to the calendar was bad enough, but it gets worse.

As if the creation of January weren’t bad enough, Julius Caesar came along and decided to add a day to give us our current 31 days. Yes, Caesar may have killed, burned and mutilated anyone who got in his way on his march to power but I think we can all look past a few minor indiscretions. But adding a day to January? No wonder Cassius and his friends stabbed Caesar to death. Who could blame them?

Regardless of history, it appears that January, like hemorrhoids and taxes, is here to stay so we’d better learn to deal with it. I suspect my problem with January started decades ago up north. How far north? We didn’t live next door to Santa at the North Pole . . . but he was a local phone call.

More specifically, my problem with January started in our bedroom, which was part of a classic add-on, built as quickly and cheaply as possible by my uncle, who had some carpentry skills, and my father, who did not. Dad’s work was guided by two basic principles of building: measure once and cuss twice and, if it doesn’t fit, hit it with a hammer; if it still doesn’t fit, hit it with a bigger hammer. The result was a sheet rocked box, slightly larger than an outhouse.

Structurally, the addition was relatively sound, but it lacked a few luxuries, such as insulation and heat which may explain the annual color change in our room. Each January, a thin layer of frost would paint the northeast interior corner of our bedroom a shivering shade of gray. Yes, this room was cold and small but that wasn’t the worst of it.

The most painful indignities would take place during subzero January nights when my brother and I went to bed- a bed we had to share. If we complained about the cold, Mom would give us a choice. We could A) add another quilt or B) freeze to death. Our choice. Her options seemed reasonable until we were buried under so many quilts, breathing became difficult. Still, tucked beneath layers of blankets curled up near my big brother, I figured things were going to be okay. I had a lot to learn.

One night I pulled the covers completely over my head which, as I would soon find out, was a very bad idea. Initial results were promising, but after just a few minutes, and there is no delicate way to put this, my brother gleefully unloaded enough natural gas to power a furnace for a week! Lifting the far end of the covers with my toes while blowing the foul air out was a fool’s effort; he simply reloaded and let loose another torrent of gas.

In truth, it wasn't the smell that bothered me so much as the burning of my eyes! Soon, I realized I had to make a choice. I could A) come up for a breath of icy clear air or B) suffocate from toxic gas. My choice. I came up for air but even that was a struggle as it felt like an alien arm was mysteriously holding the covers down over my head making escape difficult. Later, apparently exhausted from his work, my brother rolled over and went to sleep while I contemplated my near-death experience.

January mornings brought little relief. A tiled floor, with all the warmth of a hockey rink, greeted us as we scrambled out of bed and ran to the kitchen for breakfast. This was back during those crazy years when parents felt responsible for feeding their own children before sending them off to school. Mom’s specialty was lumpy oatmeal or lumpy Cream of Wheat. If we complained, she gave us a choice. We could A) eat our lumpy breakfast or B) starve. Our choice. Lumpy breakfasts never tasted so good.

Cold, snow and darkness challenge each of us in January. Between cold air, cold floors, brotherly gas and lumpy breakfasts, it’s not hard to identify the beginnings of my disdain. Still, warm fires, hot drinks and thick blankets will help us get through this cold-hearted month as they always do. Take good care and try to enjoy the heart of winter but please do yourself a favor: don’t look outside!