Baby, It's Cold Outside

As much fun as the snow can be, it comes with one pretty big downside: the cold. With the exception of yesterday, all of January has been pretty brisk.  Now, I know, it could be worse. My Canadian friends scoff at even wearing a jacket in this type of weather. Call me crazy, but to my mind, 27 degrees, for instance, with a wind chill of 17 is pretty darn frigid. And the biggest drawback isn't the chattering of bones, but the tendency we all have to hibernate.

My family and I live on an ideal street. Our association includes 31 families and something like 25 kids. Before winter set in, the street practically turned into a block party in the afternoons. Kids would be out on scooters and bikes and skates, racing down our little hill and looping around the cul-de-sac. Packs of older boys would be skulking around in the bushes with their Nerf Blasters, planning some sort of surveillance on the younger kids. As for the parents: we were all outside, some of us with lawn chairs and magazines, chatting and overseeing the madness. It was all great fun, and helped us be connected to our little community within a community. Nowadays, we parents gather at the corner at 3:25 p.m. to collect our children, but shortly after they pile out of the bus and take off running down the street, everyone ducks back inside their own house where it's nice and warm, but sometimes a bit lonely.

It's not that social interaction has come to a complete halt. The moms still get together for lunch every once in a while. The kids still have play-dates. We take turns whipping up after-school group snacks and watching each other's kids. But now, instead of lingering on someone's front yard while the kids jump on the trampoline or have a water fight, we make arrangements over the phone or on email for the youngsters to get together. It's just not the same.

These days, you have to make an effort to seek out some social interaction. The ice rink is always a good bet – especially on days when the wind isn't whipping off the sound, an unfortunate phenomenon that gives new meaning to the term 'bitter'. You can usually count on running into people there. And there's always Main Street or Starbucks. But  you have to go looking for it. People aren't hanging out on their front porches anymore.

The older woman who lives across the street from me is a serious gardener. Everyone admires her front yard, which is lined with roses and hostas and dahlias — tomatoes in the summer, too. I used to see her out front every afternoon. I'd deadhead my purple icebergs and she'd mulch around her dahlias (which inevitably put my sad little plants to shame.) One of us would wander over to the other's yard and she'd share her tools and tips on winterizing plants or fending off the deer that annihilate our precious flowers every night. (Last summer, we both put out bars of Irish Spring soap. Didn't really work.) Anyway, I enjoy her company. Even if we don't talk long, it's nice to know someone else is across the street, elbow deep in rocks and compost, too. I'm astounded that even though she lives not 100 feet away from me, I probably haven't seen my gardening friend since November.

I'm not complaining. I just miss seeing everyone, that's all. If you're reading this, Hilde, I hope you're well. See you in a few months when the daffodils start to pop. 

Michelle Bowers is a Sunday columnist for Westport Patch. You can also read more about her on her blog www.momonthefrontlines.blogspot.com.