Now, in our last thrilling episode, we expressed our deep feelings of sorrow when we discussed the plight of our snowbird friends and relatives, the ones who find themselves forced to go to areas of the world where they cannot enjoy the fun of being surrounded by snow at this festive time of year. No chance for them to be snowbound during the work week or to face the character-building challenge of walking a block or two through districts where no one has shoveled or salted since the last blizzard.
It should be noted that the postcard cartoonists, being a sympathetic lot, mourned with us about our less privileged brethren. The Russians had a proverb about the difference between cold weather and warm, noting that if one has the resources, one can deal with one but not the other. “When it is cold, every man has his own cold. But when it is hot, the whole family of man is hot.” The cartoonists took this to heart.
One of their most common examinations of the plight of those in the heat is the hunt for suitable shelter from the burning sun.
This shelter is almost always female, by the way, and sometimes big enough for two.
Naturally, it would be cruel to note that those of us in more fortunate climates don’t see all that much of the sun between, say, Thanksgiving and April Fool’s Day.
Because, after all, without things like a breeze or something else to help out, shade can only go so far. (You, in the back: I heard what you said about the wind in this chap’s situation. Just for that, you don’t get to shovel snow this afternoon.)
And sometimes shade is not available, so the snowbirds start changing into their summer plumage early.
Just like the postcard artists, we certainly feel compassion for those caught out on the beach, where, of course, there are no trees and what we do find on the beach just heats us up.
What kind of jackass, they ask, would willingly expose themselves to the heat when there is a whole world of wind chill waiting back home?
This little poem, written long ago by an anonymous author, appears on many postcards, almost always being complimented by four-legged philosophers.
A modern artist kept the philosopher but went for less poetic observations on his signs of summer.
There ARE those who feel they MUST go to the desert come December, of course. My theory is that they’ve been out in the sun too long.
So let us not revile our misguided brethren who head west or south during these joyful days, and simply relish the fact that WE are in a spot where, when it gets too warm, we can just take off one or two blankets. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must run to the grocery store, and it will take about an hour for me to assemble all the layers of sweaters, scarves, and loholty-koholoties. Have fun in the snow!