Winter Olympics

February 17, 2010 by  
Filed under Blog

I write from Florida where winter is colder and wetter than usual, but where, compared to my usual Northeast winter, I am very content.

NBC is broadcasting the Winter Olympic Games and will lose hundreds of millions of dollars doing it, but the magic of mergers has shielded it from any consequences, and so the Winter Olympic Games Junkies will happily watch people doing death defying skiing and snowboarding, and sledding and quadruple spins on ice skates. They will hear the bones crack, see the noses run, the spectators applauding more to keep the circulation in their finger than to salute the feats of the competitors.

As you may have gathered, I hate the cold. I was convinced to ski once by someone who thought it addictive and was sure one shot at it and I would be hooked. I was not. My ankles have always bent when I tried ice skating. I tried sledding and never thought the walk up the hill was worth the trip down. I looked ridiculous in bulky clothes. I hate hats. My gloves seem to get wet faster than anyone else’s. I throw the L.L.Bean catalogs out without reading a page because I am still wearing the stuff I bought from them eight years ago.

Once again I am late tying in my writing with the subject of this website, but I promise I’ll have now gotten to the point. The fact is that as much as I hate the cold, there is something about the memories of being with a loved one in front of a fire or under a quilt, or simply peeling off a scarf, gloves and a hat and seeing someone I love curled up in a chair in a warm room that has a magic for me, which can’t be matched on a sandy beach or an air conditioned room. For me, few things are as lovely as staring at a bright clear night sky through snow topped trees with someone I love.

The memory of these moments is a glorious legacy of love, even after having felt the cold pain of loss. I suppose for all of us there is nothing that feels as cold as the loss of a loved one, but the moments when a person feels the warmth of memories of what we once had, make moving on much easier.

Maybe now I should try it again. Perhaps climbing up the hill is worth it after all.

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