Facing the Elements

Posted by Heather H. | December 10, 2007 | 7 Comments

We’ve had some cold days here in the city. What with global warming and all I guess have started to expect that cold weather and snow is going to be a rarity, even in December. But last week it got cold and the freezing temperatures snapped me into the reality of winter pretty darn quick. Time to pull out the snow clothes, a necessity for New Yorkers. I’m not new to snow clothes. Growing up in Utah I owned thermal underwear, snow pants, waterproof gloves, winter hats, snow boots, fleece pullovers, cozy socks, a warm coat, and a scarf. I used these items at the same time a few times a winter. Specifically when I had a planned day in the snow: sledding, skiing, building snow forts in the yard. But mostly I just wore a coat and a pair of gloves for the rest of the winter, because the only time I had to confront the elements was when I would run from the house to the car, scrape the windows, complain that the heat didn’t warm up the car fast enough, then hop out in the parking lot of wherever I was going and hurry a few hundred feet to the next heated building. Most of you probably spend your winters this way. That’s great for you, really, I’m not jealous.

My first introduction to the true necessity and beauty of winter clothes came when I served a mission in Montreal, Canada. I left the MTC a few days after Christmas and arrived in the Great White North. My first area slapped me in the face with a phenomenon the high dessert of Utah never had: humidity + cold. I would breathe in and get ice in my nostrils, then breathe out and find ice on my eyelashes. The thermals, tights, down coat, hat, scarf, and gloves only sometimes protected me from the cold that chilled me to my bones. I’m not using that as a cliche, it literally did chill my bones, and everything beneath, between, and on top of them.

And that humidity+cold is now a part of my yearly winter on this island in the middle of the Hudson River where I don’t drive a heated car from destination to destination. Because we walk, take the bus or train and then walk again we have to dress for the cold every day. Kind of like when I was a missionary. Only now I don’t have to dress just me. I get to layer tights, sweaters, coats, hats, scarves, gloves, snow pants (when it’s really cold the kids wear them even if we’re not planning to play in the snow) and boots onto two other little people who can’t do it for themselves. Sounds like a lot, huh? Yeah, it is. If I plan to leave the house at 9:00, I need to start dressing to go out the door by 8:30, at the latest. And I try to be prepared. I check the weather online, press my face against the glass and crane my neck back to see if there are clouds in the sky beyond the apartment building next door that is built just close enough to block a normal view, and sit next to our window unit air conditioners to see what kind of chilly draft is sneaking in. It takes a lot of effort to go anywhere in the winter and even some sweat and occassionally tears, my sweat, if I dress myself first and then wrestle boots on my two-year-old son. And his tears if, well if he’s just not in the mood. Because hey, he’s two.

Maybe it was the sweat and the tears that caused me to take offense the other day when a neighborhood Dominican grandmother yelled at me in Spanish as we passed on the street. She looked at my son in his stroller and noticed his bare hands, red with cold. She spat something about manos frias with a vigorous head shake and a furrowed scowling brow. At this point are you inclined to agree with her? Are you wondering why in the world I would go through all that trouble to make sure my child is warmly dressed only to forget his tiny freezing hands?

. . .Or are you the mother of a two-year-old who knows that sometimes the will of a toddler is greater than any reason or discomfort. He just didn’t want to wear those stinkin’ mittens. And so, he tore them off and threw them down two or three times during our five-block stroll and proved that his will, for today was greater than my desire to keep his hands warm. It could definitely have something to do with my current seven-month pregnant state and not wanting to bend over to pick them up again, but at any rate I had given up and when this grandma looked at me with that disappointed scowl, it was the final straw. I scowled right back and tried to shoot her a glance that would communicate effectively (since I don’t speak Spanish), “Leave me alone you cranky lady! I’m doing the best I can!”

I picked up my pace anxious to arrive at my friend’s place so I could tell her of the unjust judgment I had received. I showed up and started to complain about the rudeness of this stranger. My friend laughed politely as I told my tale, but then in her lovely Christ-like way said, “Just remember, what she’s really trying to say is, ‘Oh! What a cute boy you have there. I just love him and don’t know how else to tell you that as we’re passing on the street, so I’m just going to let you know I notice he’s not wearing any gloves.’” I laughed in return, considered this possible new meaning to the exchange and decided to believe my friend. I mean, why not choose to think the best of people? Right? I instantly felt better.

I wish I could say the good feeling lasted. The next day as I bent down to pick up my son’s mittens I thought about it again and began to doubt my friend’s translation. In fact I decided that grandma really judged me and felt like I had to have her help because of my inadequacy and dog gone it, that ticked me off. I shook my head as I tromped down the icy walk and scowled.

I want to be more like my friend, but sometimes in facing the elements I find it hard. What helps you choose a different perspective?

Category: Daily Special

Comments

7 Responses to “Facing the Elements”

Allyson
December 10th, 2007 @ 9:26 pm

Ah, missions to the great white north. Minnesota gave me a whole new appreciation for the word “cold.”

Now on my fifth 2 year old, the only thing that sways my perspective well is a decent amount of sleep. And quiet. And a good book. Rarities, granted, but they work.

And no, 2 year olds do not voluntarily wear gloves, any more than my 11 year old will wear long pants and a coat in the snow. And who gets the cold? me, of course.
Angela
December 10th, 2007 @ 10:16 pm

Yes, Minnesota winters. When we lived there (’98-’06), my kids were in their little years, and I always felt the most sorry for the preschool teachers: they had a standing rule that all kids went outside to play if the temp was above zero. So the preschool teachers would have to stuff all those wiggly three year olds into their hats and boots and snow pants and scarves and face masks and march them outside, only to march them back inside 20 minutes later to take all the gear OFF and leave it in a sopping wet puddle under the cubbies. I did feel like a hearty soul, though, as a Minnesotan. Like everybody I knew in Utah who complained about the cold was a big ol’ baby and that I had gained some kind of moral advantage through my suffering . Although, I must say, 20 below DOES count as suffering.

By the way, Allyson, when did you serve your mission? My husband served in MN from 90-92–Elder Hallstrom. Part of the reason we went back to MN for grad school was because he liked it so much during his mission years. Even the cold.
Lee Ann
December 10th, 2007 @ 11:34 pm

I served in the great white north of Japan, which is also cold, humid, and windy. My best friend served in the Dominican Republic, and we came home to BYU at the same time. I’d be in short sleeves and no coat, and she’d be huddled in a down jacket, cursing the “cold”–even though she’d grown up in Utah.

So, here’s another alternative explanation for you to try on…perhaps that Dominican grandma was feeling orders of magnitude colder than you, and cursing the cold that turned the adorable baby’s hands blue. Maybe?
Maralise
December 11th, 2007 @ 5:25 am

Heather–I tend to take a different perspective altogether. Instead of looking at that woman’s reaction as one of love for your son, I tend to feel sorry for her. I always feel bad when people feel the need to judge someone else’s behavior when, if they had even a little creativity, they might choose another path (like looking at your pregnant state, like realizing that it’s none of their business, like trying to understand instead of judge). Our move to Austria (and our lack of a car) has taught me the importance of avoiding the appearance of cold (and avoiding the real thing also…people were wearing long sleeves and jackets in August when we arrived in hot pants and shorts). I try not to give someone else a reason to judge, but when (because it’s inevitable) they do, I try to realize that it’s their problem and not mine.
Allyson
December 11th, 2007 @ 9:24 am

Angela — I was there ’93-’95, so I just missed him. My older sister however (Sis. Miller) would have overlapped him. She was there around ’90-’91, I think.

Good man to venture back. I remember thinking that MN would be a great place to live if you didn’t have to tract. Our standing rule was tracting until 40 below, so those preschoolers had it easy. (I say that, shivering in our 30 degree frozen rain storm this morning — oh la la MN is cold. Beautiful, but cold.)
Suzy
December 11th, 2007 @ 2:04 pm

I grew up and still live in Michigan, so I “know” cold too. Even when it’s from the door to the car to the door, you can freeze your patootie off. My girls refuse to zip their jackets which drives me crazy too. What’s the point of a nice warm OPEN winter coat?!? Anyway, one of my girls also came up with a little phrase when she was younger that always helps me put things in perspective when I feel like people are poking their noses (and opinions) where they don’t belong. She always said, “mind your own personal beeswax”. The “personal” always cracks me up, and by the time I’m done laughing I’ve forgotten why I was getting all t.o’d. Maybe it’ll help with your Dominican Grandma lady.
Michelle
December 11th, 2007 @ 5:36 pm

What helps you choose a different perspective?

Choosing and choosing and choosing again. I think it takes discipline and a whole lot of grace to have the kind of spirit that can look at things without grudges, guilt and frustration (toward self and others). I try to catch myself when I am going down one of those paths, and I try to pray, give the benefit of the doubt, and look for the positive.

I also seek to be secure enough in God’s love that I can not worry so much about what others think. I can remember that He knows my heart, and in the end, if I am doing all I can, it really doesn’t matter what others think.