It's Not Hibernation

A Hiemal View from my Picture Window 2025

Since this column is due the week before it appears, you’ll recall that last week we had a foreboding hiemal forecast for 5 - 7 inches of the stuff that sends the snowbirds among us to warmer spots. Notice how I sneaked that ‘h’ word in? I thought I’d vary the vocabulary a bit since we’ll tire of seeing and hearing all things wintry or snowy if the predictions pan out. This is hardly formal writing; I could have snuck it in just as well.

When hints of the white stuff hit the air waves, my lizard brain kicks in. I begin to look around for the means to occupy my senses in a secure manner, to appease the lizard connection. Now in its eighth decade, my body neither fights nor flees fantastically so what do I do?

I sleep enough, though not all that deeply for long stretches, so hibernation is out of the question. That would mean postponing hot chocolate breaks and Antiques Road Trip binges as well as playful zoomies with the felines while keeping cheese and crackers feasts just out of their reach.

So I’m preparing for brumation as a survival compromise. This word wasn’t invented until 1965 and it does indeed apply to lizards, the Horned Lizard specifically, since the word-coiner Wilbur Mayhew couldn’t find a term to distinguish its preferred winter behaviors from critters with warmer blood. It defines a sluggish state of inactivity during long times of low temps. Periods of wakefulness and feeding allowed.

For my brumation, I have a checklist of items to facilitate vegetating on the couch, in view of both the television and the front window. I hate getting situated just so THEN realizing I can’t reach the remote or my toes are cold.

Here is my supply list: *fuzzy socks; *my fuzziest pajamas that are NOT one-piece jobbers (so to avoid an unacceptable level of activity if break needed during commercials); *fuzzy robe if windchill becomes a factor; *handy extension cord already plugged in; a magazine I haven’t read; *purse used most recently; *microwavable foods; *paper plates; *cat toy on a wand; *box or tote to accommodate: remote, phone, laptop, chargers, kleenex, a stash of peanut butter crackers, just a smidgen of chocolate, notebook with tri-colored ink pen and my camouflaged list of passwords retrieved from its secret place.

My to-do list before settling in: check heat sources - high enough to keep house warm but low enough to keep me from broiling in all the fuzzy stuff; lock doors, check cat bowls, open curtains, put on fresh pillow cases, go to the bathroom, add to the box/tote spare AAA batteries, an extra ponytail elastic and just a smidgen more chocolate.

I may be constantly on the lookout for primaveral signs, but I am looking forward to at least one brief brumation so I can sing along with Dean Martin: “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!”

(For the 1/16/2025 Close to Home )