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Syndicate
Jan
30
| The Big Snore |
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| Wednesday, 30 January 2008 | |
Lisa Sussman, NNN's Natural Mom, copes -- or fails to cope? -- with a Rhode Island winter.
Winter is a time to sleep…perchance, to dream.
 I don’t like this wishy-washy weather. This is the season of cozy fleece and hot baths and long winter evenings spent reading on the couch. Or rather, it should be. But one day, I am bundling up the kids like mini yetis; the next, it is practically balmy and we are stripping down to our shirt sleeves. I long for the constant cold of a true New England winter.
My husband, on the other hand, loves these warmer conditions. He has never been a fan of Old Man Winter. Every time the mercury starts dropping, he begins his seasonal grumble: “Do people really live with this? Why did anyone decide this place was habitable?"
I admit, though, that it is harder to get out of bed when the mornings are grey and gloomy. During the darkness of winter, my energy and enthusiasm wane. A friend of mine jokes that she is solar-powered - when she goes too long without seeing enough sunshine, her battery needs recharging. I identify with this need to push back the winter dusk. Around 25% of us suffer from SAD – seasonal affective disorder – when the light is reduced. We get mopey and dopey. Perhaps our bodies are trying to tell us something.
I recently read an article about European peasants in the 19th century who would spend one-half of the year in sleep. According to a 1900 British Medical Journal report: "At the first fall of snow the whole family gathers round the stove, lies down, ceases to wrestle with the problems of human existence, and quietly goes to sleep. Once a day, every one wakes up to eat a piece of hard bread. . . . The members of the family take it in turn to watch and keep the fire alight. After six months of this reposeful existence the family wakes up, shakes itself" and "goes out to see if the grass is growing."
 It’s not true hibernation, but it sounds pretty good. The funny thing is that there aren’t really very many true hibernators in nature either. Bears, raccoons, skunks and opossum may all bunk in for much of the winter, but they wake periodically and even venture outside. In order to be classified as a "true" or "deep" hibernator, there must be a drastic reduction in metabolism, heart rate and respiration combined with a body temperature that plummets to just a few degrees above freezing. Our great, true local hibernators are the common woodchucks and little brown bats.
As for humans, I would say that we could easily miss out on the sad anticlimax that is January. And February is hardly worth waking for, even with its extra day this year. Just think – Groundhog Day? Valentine’s Day? It seems to me that these are holidays created out of real desperation to liven up a dreary time of year. March in New England, with its blustery winds, is nothing to write home about. In fact, true libertarians needn’t open their eyes until late April, when the first warm wisps of spring finally blow into our neck of the woods. The rest of us will probably want to set our alarms in time to file our taxes on April 15.
Just imagine the benefits if we all shuttered up the house and snuggled down between the covers for the next few months. For one thing, we would save much wear and tear on the planet. There would be no enormous fuel usage. The roads and skies would stay empty. There would no longer be a need to ship out-of-season fruit and vegetables across our oceans.
Then there are the simple physical blessings. I heard somewhere that squirrels lose up to 40% of their body weight during their winter snooze. So there would be no need to go on my usual spring diet. Like a bear grabbing salmon and berries, I have spent a merry season of eating far too much potatoes, puddings and pies. I am sure I have stored enough fat to last a few months. If all goes well, I will wake up svelte and ready to face down that spring rite of passage known as “bathing suit shopping” without my usual angst.
There would be social advantages as well. This is the time of the calendar when my patience is worn thin. After having resolved to cultivate a kinder, gentler version of myself in the New Year, I am quicker than ever with my criticisms. First, I get angry with myself for failing to live up to my resolutions and then I become irritated with those closest to me for being such flawed human beings that there is no way I could possibly execute my self-imposed makeover. If we were all just to doze for a few months, it would be like taking a collective time-out from each other. When we awake, that thick layer of tolerance needed for any communal interaction would have had time to regenerate. We will once again be more forgiving, less disappointed, ready to kiss and make up.
So hands off my Thin Mints! I ordered a few extra boxes to tide me over in case I wake up. Happy dreams!
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