Winter of my Discontent

     I don't understand much Shakespeare, but I know that "the winter of my discontent" is a line from one of his plays, that I understand.  I have been privileged to live in Montana nearly all of my life, but I am not a winter person.  This is unfortunate because Montana is into winter in a big way.  Kalispell has made the problem worse; it is cloudy during many seasons, but the white skies are particularly depressing in the winter. There is also a cumulative effect, I don't begin each winter with a clean slate, there is leftover discontent from previous years, like rollover phone minutes but in a negative way. The winter blues have now been upgraded with an official title: Seasonal Affective Disorder.  The title doesn't make it any easier to bear, but it gives you an official sounding reason to complain, "I have S.A.D." sounds less whiny than , "I am sad."
     After decades in Kalispell I have learned ways to help myself: spend some time outside, even if I don't want to, let in as much light as possible during the day, close the shades as soon as it begins to get dark, turn on lots of lights, exercise, occasional visits to a tanning booth.  But my favorite coping technique is the geographical cure--leave.  Frankly, once New Year's Day is over, I am done with winter.  Montana, unfortunately, will not be done for four more months.  This year I began getting restless after New Year's dinner was over, when we officially ended the holiday season by letting my nephew blow up the gingerbread house with firecrackers.  Happily, we were leaving the next day--for Seattle, but at least there were green plants to look at.
     Somewhere in my family tree there must be a real tree because my branch of the blood line seems to be contaminated with chlorophyll.  I get energy from the sun.  This lasting feeling of warm contentment is a sensation I privately call "sungasms".  God understands my frailties.  I am a bundle of frailties wrapped, loosely, in skin.  Shakespeare has a quote about that too, "frailty, thy name is woman", but that is just ridiculous.
     This winter God has arranged Reed's work schedule so that we will be gone most of the dreary months.  I am able to travel with Reed because I work just a few hours a week in home health care and there are 50 employees who can replace me when I'm out of town.  Because I have both a wonderful God and husband, I have had the rare blessing throughout most of my marriage of being able to work outside my home without having to work outside my home.   My goal for retirement is to be a snowbird, but until then I will deal with the restlessness one winter at a time. Spring will come again and the winter of my discontent will end much like all our struggles will--with a glimpse of the Son.