The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.
-16th Century Nursery Rhyme
In the “Star Wars” trilogy, the planet Hoth is the outermost planet of the remote Hoth system. A small planet with a climate much too cold for intelligent life, Hoth was located near an asteroid belt and meteors regularly hit the planet. I’ve always wondered whether George Lucas visited Minnesota and came up with the idea for that planet after spending a little time here in January. As for any intelligent life on Hoth? Of course there wasn’t. The smart ones all left.
For the past week, I have been watching the skies for meteors above our own little slice of Hoth. It’s been so cold that the dog has resorted to doing her business in the one spot that is protected by the back steps, flatly refusing to venture any farther into the yard. Every morning, her mournful hound eyes implore me as if to say, “Really? You’re REALLY going to make me go out there again?” Beagles were not built for places like Hoth.
And so, for now we are both stuck here counting the days until spring like two wild-eyed, twitchy, cell mates. It takes a lot to get me out of the house at this time of year. My good friend, Liz, lures me out with promises of lunch dates and rooms to paint. This is good. Leaving the house is much healthier than six days straight of not leaving it, which happens to be my current record.
It remains to be seen whether something like a Women’s March with thousands of other cold, crabby, women is on the list of reasons I might actually put on my long underwear and venture out to search for signs of intelligent life in the universe this month.
A nasty case of Cabin Fever can make a woman do some pretty wacky things in January. Anything’s possible, actually. Even on Hoth.
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