The process began innocently enough. In the fall when the days started getting shorter, I treated myself to wee afternoon naps. Over the past few months of COVID isolation, I’ve also put on a few unwanted pounds of winter fat and insulation. Then, on New Year’s Day, I had a morning and afternoon nap. It appears my body has gone into full-on Canadian hibernation, like a bear. For the next two or three months, I expect I’ll only emerge from my den long enough for feeding and bathroom breaks. And, I’ll probably be very grumpy.

I don’t know if anyone else is experiencing this phenomenon but it’s not something I’m celebrating. As someone who hates winter I thought I’d prepared myself. I bought a lovely red winter parka to brighten my life and keep me warm. I make sure to take daily walks in the fresh air despite the dull skies overhead. I bought some new winter nightgowns with long sleeves and even added a new quilted winter bedspread to my lair for extra warmth. I retrieved my bread machine from the basement so I could carb-load and hopefully lift my spirits but I’m losing ground. And I’m scared scat-less.

It’s my firm belief that whoever created this planet never intended human beings to live north of the Mason-Dixon line. That’s why so many Canadian snowbirds head south every November to return to our natural habitat. It’s in our DNA. I have Canadian friends who braved the risk of flying when the land border closed and are now soaking up that lovely Florida sunshine for the duration of the pandemic. I envy them. It’s far more appealing to be isolated in the land of warm sun and palm trees than here in the land of dirty snow, muck and a depressing greyish-brown landscape. I wish I were in Florida too. And, to my further frustration, they’re getting their COVID vaccinations this week while we Canucks will have to wait heaven-knows-how-long. Grrrr!

With no motivation to do anything remotely productive, I’m condemned to the next few months of watching television and reading books. It’s not a bad life, but it is becoming tiresome, which is probably why I require all those naps. Mother bears usually give birth and tend to their cubs while cozied up in their winter dens. I’m too old to breed anymore so I’ve settled for cuddling up to my honey and my little dog. Fortunately, our den has WiFi so Mama Bear can download books while Papa Bear burrows into his La-Z-Bear until spring when he can once again return to foraging in his garden. The days are gradually getting longer so I know spring will eventually come. Until then, I’ll just leave the Do Not Disturb sign on our door. Food donations accepted.