Cabin Fever Hits

I am finally mobile again since the weather has warmed up, enough rain fell, and my car is now out of its “stuck in the ice and snow” mode. It is no longer an ice sculpture but a dirty, mode of tranportation, all gassed up and ready to go! I am grateful I didn’t have COVID fever, just a mild case of Cabin Fever these past two weeks.

It’s probably psychological because there was no place I needed or wanted to go. We had food, water (after the pipes defrosted), and every Netflix, Amazon Prime, and every other necessary app to keep us mindlessly entertained. The restlessness is probably a result of living in Los Angeles for so many years, where everyone spends a significant part of their lives on the road. So, when I am stuck without a car, I begin to feel trapped.

However, I was somewhat of a Los Angeles anomaly because I walked a lot in my L.A. neighborhood. Even though I could walk to restaurants, grocery stores, a gym, a shopping mall, and dry cleaners, I had the security of knowing that anytime I wanted, my car was available, and I could get anywhere I wanted to be. Albeit late because L.A. traffic is always an obstacle to punctuality.

I am also embarrassed to admit that during the recent two-week “snow in,” I discovered I have a bit of a sadistic streak. The first day of the heavy snow, I opened the back door for Mugsy and watched him run across the deck and sink into a snowdrift. All I could see were these two dark eyes, as big as golf balls, along with his cute little button nose sticking out of the snow: my first reaction, laughter.

Guilt got the better of me, and I carried him to the protected area of the yard, where he had a fighting chance of not drowning in a snowdrift while relieving himself. Daniel, being sympathetic, shoveled a path through the yard to the back fence for him, which he gratefully used to do his business.

I also laughed at him trying to negotiate slush (he’s a fair-weather dog that doesn’t like cold or wet on his paws). Trying to walk on ice is not his strong suit either; he tried gripping the ice, but not very successfully. He would sit at the front door, anxiously awaiting his usual walk, and then ten steps onto the snow, slush, or ice, and he would turn around because the conditions offended his delicate sensibilities.

This recent snowstorm reminded me of my childhood in New York. My mother would help dress us in our winter jackets, gloves, hats, and scarves. We would play ten minutes in the snow, only to return inside because we were cold, needed the bathroom, or were hungry. Inside, she would help us shed the layers of outdoor clothes, only to redress us to go back outside a few minutes later. This inside-outside/dress-undress routine went on all day. In retrospect, if I were my mother, I would have locked us outside for two hours at a time, just to have some time to herself. She was a much better person than I am.

The snow has melted, my car is accessible, Mugsy is not relegated to his path in the backyard, so, of course, now I want to stay home. Maybe there is some truth to the cliché “the grass is always greener,” especially when it’s not covered in snow!