Hibernating

You don't have to be a bear to hibernate, you just have to feel like one. And, for some reason, it is usually the months between November and April that bring on the need to withdraw. It probably has something to do with the bone chilling temperatures or howling winds, or it could be just the dark, you know, the fourteen hours between supper and dawn. I'm not quite sure, but the combination of all of the above are almost guaranteed to chase me into my pajamas shortly after dinner and under a blanket till morning. Maybe it's just nature's way of saying, "slow down, relax, recoup." Who am I not to heed mother nature's wise advice? I have no problem battening down the hatches, brewing up a pot of tea, resurrecting my fuzzy slippers and faux sheep-skin blanket. This is the season for watching entire season's worth of your favourite TV show , movies that you've been meaning to get to, starting and maybe even having enough time to finish a family game of Monopoly, Battleship or Scrabble. It is time to dig out grandma's knitting needles and that dusty ball of yarn, to look up all those things you have been meaning to google, start a novel, take a knife to that small piece of wood brought in as kindling for the fire, allow yourself a three hour bubble bath or finally make a start on that genealogy project. And it's all because of the inhospitable conditions outside. I still remember an evening, not that long ago, when the kids came out of their rooms and into the family room where we were sitting. The electricity went out, the computers were down, and there was nothing left to do but spend time with one another. We lit candles, played cards and were actually disappointed to see the lights finally come on again. I think that winter is nature's way of turning out the lights so that we remember how to light the ones within.