Winter, cold weather bring fond memories
I hear Christmas and 1 think winter. I think
snowflakes, snowmen, snow angels, frozen
windshields, chain advisories, Les Schwab,
blizzards and bluebird days. 1 think hot
chocolate in the lodge at noon and sitting in
front of the fire at night. I think goggle tans
and windburn, avalanches and hardpack. I
think nordic skiing, tele skiing, snowboard
ing and hiking. I think mountains.
I've been in Eugene four years now, but when
someone asks me where I'm from I tell them the
mountain town where 1 grew up. After 48 months
I still wake up every morning from November to
March and check the snow reports at far away
places and the road conditions to get there I still
watch the horizon for incoming storms and re
joice in the wind that 1 know is blowing dark
clouds inland toward the Cascades, carrying with
them the gift of snow.
There is something magic about a blizzard,
something dangerous and seductive about the
possibility of becoming snow bound, of being
shut off from the rest of the world by howling
winds and driving snow. Winter storms are an
Aimee Rudin
Five feet of fury
excuse to stay at home during the week keep
ing the fire stoked and reading books for pleas
ure. They are an excuse to once again act like
children, to smile at strangers and throw snow
balls at friends. A reason to laugh out loud and
gaze up into the heavens with wonder.
I am as connected to winter as I am to my
own skin. During the summer when my face is
tan, I carry a ghost image of a long-gone goggle
tan, as if my face has higher deposits of
melanin in some parts than in others. I bear
the scars of winter sports and am susceptible to
frost bite on my cheekbones. 1 have bone spurs
on my heels from years of hiking uphill in
boots, digging my toes in for traction.
Even though the temperature in Eugene rarely
drops below 45 degrees, my wardrobe to this day
consists of sweaters, fleece and polypropylene. 1
am more comfortable in layers than 1 will ever be
in a tank-top. It should be expected; I spent my
formative years bundled into blankets and swad
dled in snowsuits. I sleep with a down comforter
on my bed in June, because in the morning if I
keep my eyes pinched shut I can almost convince
myself that it's 15 degrees outside and storming.
When I was young there was a ritual at my
house. The first person awake in the morning
called the snow report, more than 8 inches of
new snow meant Linda Ronstadt or the Beach
Boys got turned up on the radio and school
was optional.
Dad would go sliding across the kitchen
floor in thick woolen socks as he pumped his
arms in a spasmodic snow dance of thanks. 1
had more excused absences by the time I was
in fifth grade than most people accumulate in
a lifetime. 1 also had and continue to have an
incredibly strong relationship with my family
and a pretty decent GPA.
1 am almost a grown-up now. Last year,
rather than drinking champagne at the stroke
of midnight on New Year's Eve, I danced on a
mountain to the music of falling snow with a
man that I love. This year I hope we'll do the
same. We're starting our own traditions and
they begin with winter.
Contact the freelance editor
at aimeerudin@dailyemerald.com.
SHAKRA
continued from page 2C
then cut them down for no use but for people to
buy, shove into their houses, then pretend said
trees are alive? If Christmas trees were humans,
we'd be burying them, not decorating them, or
namenting them and then displaying them
prominently in our houses. I suppose you could
just go cut down your own. Yes, that's exactly
what we need: to cut down more trees in the
name of tradition.
Furthermore, these things die so fast that post
Dec. 25, one of the most common sights on
street sides are withered, skeletal carcasses of
trees. I guess some folks wait until New Year's —
how humanitarian.
Yes, the last remnants of nostalgia for this holi
day have finally worn off. 1 am grateful to be go
ing home, for spending time with my family, but
the rest of the so-called "traditions" that call for
mass consumption are absolutely perverse This is
n't Christmas, it's ChristMASS.
Cynicism need not be continued along these
lines, however. If I may make a suggestion, how
about bringing something live into your house
and decorating that?
At this point, I might risk becoming a cliche of
myself — or even worse — viewed as some land of
latter-day Ebenezer Scrooge. But that's really not
where I'm going. Joe Bechard asked a good ques
tion about Thanksgiving: Mow do you celebrate it
when there's always a bountiful harvest? I would
venture an answer and suggest we begin celebrat
ing in a way that contributes to life — all life. Let us
reclaim Christmas as a holiday for true reflection
and begin questioning the effect our way of life has
upon our friends, family, neighbors — upon die
world. The answer isn't buying stuff for each other
in an attempt to fulfill our greater needs.
1 suggest we start cultivating a mindfulness for
our actions. 1 suggest we start cultivating love for
all, peace for all, and this begins in the way we en
gage the world in our minds. I am reminded of
two things Mahatma Gandhi said: "You must be
the change you wish to see in the world" and "Al
most anything you do will be insignificant but it is
very important that you do it. *
Contact the Pulse editor
at aaronshakra@dailyemerald.coni. His opinions
do not necessarily represent those of the Emerald.
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