Or . . . My Tongue In Cheek Ode to the First Month of the Year
There’s only one thing that bothers the fire out of me every year. You see, it’s January 31st. The last day of the month. One-twelfth of the year gone. But, January is also evil. Sure it’s the first month of the year, a time for renewal and resolutions, indoor games, hot cocoa with marshmallows, and the month of white sales (a tradition that began in 1878; all sheets were white back then), but it’s still evil, and I’ll tell you why. Our objective to keep everyone in the family healthy during the month of January failed. Again. For the eleventh–11th, ELEVENTH!–January in a row, we got sick. Colds. Runny noses. Coughs.
One year it was strep throat. Another year, it was an intestinal bug. Usually colds–but it’s always something. We were close–so close to making this an illness free month. It didn’t happen. January is evil. We fear January.
January doesn’t seem to be kind to anyone. Bitter cold. Winter blizzards. Shoveling snow. Red noses and cheeks. More shoveling snow. Vehicles sliding amuck on icy roads. Still more shoveling snow. People fighting back with cups of hot cocoa, tea, and toddies in front of crackling fires. And bowls of hot soup. Now, I love snow–don’t get me wrong. Winter is my favorite season of the year.
When I was growing up, we had one winter storm that dumped more snow than I’d ever seen. The wind howled around the house and the temperature sank t0 -20 degrees F below zero. The wind chill was -60 degrees F below zero. We had sparkling icicles as thick as my wrist hanging like a curtain from the roof. Which proves that January has crystalline fangs and is out to get us.
On the other hand, maybe 12 is a lucky number. Maybe we won’t get sick next January.