From the editor
“I got cabin fever, it’s burning in my brain. I’ve got cabin fever, it’s driving me insane.”
Those lyrics from the classic Muppets song have been looping in my head lately, especially after the recent snow and ice storm.
I love snow — that is, in small amounts that melt away by afternoon. That kind of snow feels charming. This was not that kind of snow.
Day one was enjoyable. I couldn’t wait for the first flake so I could break into the snacks I stocked up on, make hot chocolate and settled in with Netflix. In the morning, I loved watching my daughter’s puppy play in the snow — bounding, slipping, tasting and delighting in it. The day felt cozy and special.
Day two was different. The novelty wore off and the itch set in. I needed to get out of the house, to move, to do something — but it wasn’t an option. Our street hadn’t been plowed yet, and beneath the snow sat at least two inches of solid ice. Staying put was the only sensible choice, even if it felt hard.
By day three, I technically could have gone out, but icy roads kept me home. Caution won out over my restlessness. I’ve always been what I like to consider a high-energy person. My parents used to say I was “always on the move,” and they weren’t wrong. It’s also one of the first things that drew me to Bob when we met in college. He was endlessly curious, always ready for the next adventure. Our energy matched well. Thirty-five years later, he’s still on the go, though these few snowbound days slowed even him down.
Being forced to slow down doesn’t come easily to me. Stillness feels uncomfortable. Productivity is often mistaken for progress, and motion can feel like purpose. Yet there was something quietly valuable in those days of pause. I suppose rest isn’t always chosen; sometimes it’s assigned.
Snow days remind us that we don’t control everything — schedules, plans, even our own momentum. They nudge us to postpone our plans, embrace stillness and find small moments of gratitude where we can. A warm drink. A shared laugh. A puppy in the snow.
As winter continues, I hope you’re staying safe, warm and patient — with the weather and with yourself. Spring will come. It always does.
Peace & Love, Cindy
