The title of this entry says it all. Well, not really, or this would be a terribly short article.
I love Nebraska. If I didn’t love Nebraska, I wouldn’t be here for a quarter-century. (Give or take half a year.) But I hate Nebraska winter. January through…oh, let’s just say June to be safe–is a difficult time for me. I think I might have the SAD…..Seasonal Affective Disorder…but I’ve never been officially diagnosed with it.
My primary grievance with Nebraska winter is Nebraska winter weather. Every morning I take tentative, terrified steps from the front door of my apartment building to the front door of Radio City. The apartment complex parking lot is a jagged, miserable ice-encrusted deathscape. Then I move onto Hammond Lane and realize how great the apartment parking lot was. Hammond Lane is a long road lined by apartment buildings. Hammond Lane does not appear to receive any snow or ice removal from the City. Hammond Lane does not appear to receive any snow or ice removal from the owners of the apartment complex. Hammond Lane is the road that time forgot. It is the “international waters” of lanes. Eventually, after getting out of Hammond Lane’s death grip, I move onto Buchfinck, which does get city treatment and is generally the least objectionable part of the walk in. Then I get to the approach to the radio station. I hate to say this about my beloved employer, but the station parking lot is another delightful icy death crunch.
Now, sometimes we get warmer days and I think, “Gee, that’s swell.” But I forget. The warmer temperatures melt the snow and slush and ice. Then at night, the temperature goes below freezing. Then the next morning, I’m once again the Scott Hamilton of pedestrians.
So the weather gives me winter blahs. Or frankly, winter rage. The things I mutter to myself on that slippery, trippery morning walk….if anyone ever heard them I would be immediately institutionalized, or at the very least have my mouth washed out with soap.
Also giving me winter blahs: JetBlue. I’m reminded of this classic “Seinfeld” moment:
“See, you know how to TAKE the reservation…you just don’t know how to HOLD the reservation.”
Or in my case:
“See, you know how to TAKE my suitcase…you just don’t know how to HOLD my suitcase.” My bag, two pair of pants, socks, underwear, a couple sweatshirts, Eagle Radio t-shirts for my family, and an adorable Mickey Mouse cardigan sweater are in The Twilight Zone. I have been communicating with the airline…filling out forms…and so forth. Either I will get my bag back, or I will get a check. At this point I don’t expect either to arrive before Fall 2026. (On the plus side, when the airline screws up like this they have to reimburse you for stuff you have to buy in-the-moment…such as new pants because the two pair of pants you brought home are the only ones that fit you, because you’ve become middle age portly and 20 years worth of 32×30 pants are now worthless.)
So yes. Between weather and baggage, I am suffering the winter blahs. So how do you remedy blahs of any origination? Here is how I do it.
- Travel
- Ebay
I have booked a trip for my birthday weekend. Normally I don’t talk about forthcoming trips on my blog because I am superstitious that it will queer the deal. But in this case there’s an 87% chance I won’t go, because it’s January and winter weather will #$%^ me over any chance it gets. This is like the travel version of betting all your chips on the green 00 on the roulette wheel. If I should by some miracle make the trip, I’m gonna see “To Kill A Mockingbird” at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. This is the touring edition of the Broadway play written by Aaron Sorkin and starring Richard Thomas (John-Boy of “Waltons” fame) as Atticus Finch. I loved the book (the only school book I really liked), the film with Gregory Peck is an absolute favorite…so I’m hoping I can sneak past the evil winter death grip for one short two-day trip.
And as far as Ebay goes, well, I got some Pez dispensers. Big shock I know. I got a set of European Pez featuring Pink Panther, the Inspector and The Ant and the Aardvark. And I got Bert and Ernie Pez to go along with the Cookie Monster I was gifted by the Knight Museum ladies. I know it’s silly to create manufactured excitement by sending yourself things in the mail. But it’s pretty low on the “harmful addiction” chart…right between “needlepoint” and “hats with naughty jokes on them.”