Pass the Nyquil Please

Winter is here.

I know what the calendar says, that we're barely more than two weeks into autumn. I know what the leaves say, the ones that are turning all those beautiful shades of red and brown and yellow, the ones that draw people seemingly by the millions into my state to look at them before they fall to the ground. I know what the temperature says, with probably the nicest weather we will see around here for the next seven months.

I know all that, I just don't care. Take it from me, winter is here. I am deep into my first cold of the winter season, and I have been sniffling, suffering from a sore throat, and hacking like a cat trying to cough up a furball. Therefore, winter is here.

It's only a matter of time before I have to go out in the middle of the night to fire up the snow-blower and clear off the driveway (it's a long one, complete with a hill) in the middle of a raging blizzard because the kids have school and my wife and I have to work in the morning, with the wind whipping snow down my collar, making me sweat and freeze at the same time.

It's only a matter of time before I get out of work at midnight and trudge out to my truck with temperatures pushing zero, scraping the ice off my windshield while my fingers go numb even though I'm wearing gloves and I question why I don't live in Arizona.

It's not that I don't like winter, it's just...well...actually it is that I don't like winter. The older I get the less I like it, in fact. I'm not a skier or a snowboarder or a snowmobiler, so the long winter months don't really hold any appeal at all to me. If you take away winter's obvious charms, things like frozen digits and ice storms and losing your electricity and getting into a car that feels like a walk-in freezer, what are you really left with?

That's right, a cold. A head-pounding, cough-inducing, sniffle-making cold. And I have one. It's going to be a long winter.