I swapped a few e-mails with Jaxon yesterday; he’s in jam where he lives. He was the recipient of an outrageous “condominium assessment.” Having lived in a condominium for almost fifteen years, I could understand his frustration. My condominium owner’s association never delivered an assessment to me and although I wanted nothing to do with the shenanigans and wranglings of that particular “Board of Directors,” they did a good job of informing residents of financial affairs and keeping the coffers sufficiently stuffed to avoid the dreaded “assessment.”
Then Jaxon switched topics and said “I just haven’t felt like exercising lately. Do you think it’s because I’ve eliminated wheat and sugar from my diet?”
I didn’t know how to respond. The lack of wheat and sugar in his diet may have contributed to his listlessness, but deep down I knew it wasn’t the cause. A rewritten line from a song ran through my head:
“But January made me shiver, with every paper I’d deliver, bad news on the doorstep; I couldn’t take one more step…”
Pseudoscience suggests the Monday of the last full week of January is “Blue Monday,” the most depressing day of the year. My brother wrote a blog post about it last year. I’ll spare the Wikipedia page link because it’s an insult to mathematicians and scientists who labor with facts and data.
Yesterday was Tuesday; could Jaxon really be suffering from Blue Monday?
Considering all these things, I tap, tap, tapped an answer back to him:
“No. The reason you don’t feel like exercising is because it’s cold and it’s January. That’s why people go to Florida in the winter. Force yourself to move. Then, put your condo on the market and let’s go to Florida.”
Content with my response, Jaxon said we would discuss our vacation in a few days. ‘”The Gentleman” and “The Lady Alone Traveler” makes good blog fodder,” I said. We laughed and parted electronic company.
I looked at my watch and realized I hadn’t felt like exercising all day either. I hopped in the Jeep, drove the short distance to The Farm, and started trudging down the snow-covered road, enjoying the sounds of my boots crunching in the snow.
Four o’clock and eleven degrees.
I hiked over Mosquito Hill, dodging a downed tree, and judging by the remainder of afternoon light, I walked all the way over to the town road. I turned around and trudged back to the top of the hill just in time to see a layer of bright orange in the afternoon sky somewhere over the river. I stopped and crouched, looking for the outline of mountains against the fiery sky. I found that little place between the trees where I could see The White Mountains.
It was beautiful. Four forty-five and there was still a shard of blazing daylight.
There may very well be bad news on the doorstep, but I was grateful I could take one more step yesterday.
Get behind me, Bleak Hours!