there was no snow in my youth
Saturday, November 26, 2005
All week I've been hearing about snow and ice, the frigid onslaught of winter. Growing up in Portugal, however, winters are just cold and wet, without any of the winter magic you see on Christmas card covers.
Back when I was reading Calvin and Hobbes on a daily basis, I would grind my teeth in envy at the winter frolicking of the demented protagonist and his imaginary friend. Sledding? Snowball fights? Snowmen? Ice-skating? I had none of that in my youth. My winters consisted (and continue to consist) of trying to figure out what clothing I own that would provide comfort during the cold rainy periods of the day, while not boiling me to a pulp the moment the sun pops through a cloud.
Of course, it's not technically winter yet. Officially, it is autumn, or fall. Unfortunately, that is a season that is not recognised (or recognisable) in my home country. Let me lay out the seasons as I was taught how they ought to exist:
Spring: Chirping birds, blooming flowers, warming days. Children collecting flowers.
Summer: Warm, sun is out. Children collecting sea-shells.
Fall: Everything begins to die, but its gorgeous. Children jumping into piles of leaves.
Winter: It snows. Everyone loves it. Children throwing snowballs.
Here, we don't have the two 'middle' seasons. Summer and Winter we do have (the former being very nice and the latter being very dissapointing), but Spring and Autumn are things of Easter and Thanksgiving cards, respectively. Hallmark is my educator as far as seasons are concerned, and based on that, our Spring and Autumn fall rather short. Instead of these two rather interesting seasons, we simply go through a period where days will alternate between being summery (ie, warm) and wintery (ie, cold and wet). Sometimes the alteration comes on an hourly basis. It will rain for an hour, then be so nicely warm you head out in a tshirt, only to die of hypothermia two hours later. The death will be a mystery to the doctors, since by the time you're found (an hour later) the sun will be shining, the birds will be chirping, your body will have thawed and nobody will understand how you managed to develop hypothermia when it's 25ÂșC outside. It fucks with your mind.
The only thing I like about the colder times of year, is the fact that I can get all warm and cosy. It's another Hallmark image: people sitting around a roaring fire, roasting chestnuts, smiled beaming and eye-lashes singeing. We do get that once we reach real winter, and its starting now, but unfortunately, again, this is Portugal. The only warm place in the house is directly in front of the fire. Nobody I know (outside of the Quinta da Marinha) has central heating, plus most of the houses around here are built with the summer in mind, which results in pretty near freezing temperatures indoors during the winter. Even in front of the beloved fire, only the half of you that is facing the furnace is being warmed. The one side shivers as the other side sweats.
In the winter, the decadence and evil of the past year is covered in a blanket of snow.
Fade to white.
Snow is white is innocence.
There was no snow in my youth.
you're that much closer to knowing me.
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