WINTER BLAHS

My friend Jim Rippy always sends me pictures when it snows. Beautiful, white fluffy snow hanging from boughs of trees and sitting like unopened boxes on tops of shrubs. The pictures are truly beautiful to look at. From the comfort of my Arizona home.

Three inches of Illinois snow or 85 degrees of Scottsdale sun? Believe me, there's no choice.

Besides frozen fingers, by the way, was I the only kid ever to get bleedy sores on his hands from playing basketball outside in the cold? They formed every winter on the tips of my fingers and thumb from dribbling. They seemed to take forever to heal. Now I simply get cracks near my fingernails when even Arizona cold requires a fireplace for winter warmth. The cracks simply split open like a stretch mark. Then they burst into a full fledged slice. Even more sore than a papercut, they're another badge of hated winter.

But maybe the worst part of winter in the Midwest was footwear. Galoshes were so ugly and cumbersome. Those buckles were tiresome to snap on; it seemed there were twenty per galosh. If you could get away with rubbers or slickers or what we called boots, you were better off. But it only took one slip up or snowball that got down the side and your foot was soaked all day. Wet leather or tennis shoes were also a poor answer. Unless you liked iced feet. And it didn't matter how many layers of socks you had on, the wet stuff would find you. In addition, you would have a blister to go with cold feet.

Winter was brutal for a sun lover who froze at temps below 45. Even the most decked out winter kid, fashionable in Snoopy footwear, was still miserable in the Midwest.