The joys of being a middle-aged COVID winter shut-in

This comedy piece by Craig Silliphant, a writer, editor, critic, broadcaster, and creative director based in Saskatoon, is part of CBC's Opinion section.

For more information about CBC's Opinion section, please see the FAQ.

Now's the time of year many of us in Canada would usually go on a winter holiday. We would feel the warm breeze on our skin, sip a cold Corona and laugh at knock-off Rider merch we stumble across in a Mexican marketplace. 

Unfortunately, the only corona I've come across lately was followed by an uncomfortable swab to the brain. You can't travel this year unless you're a politician not bound by the same rules as the rest of us mortal peons.

To be fair, this winter has mostly been moderate. Sort of. 

It did dump 30-plus centimetres of snow at one point. It engulfed my two-year-old daughter in our yard. She had to cut a tauntaun open for shelter.

We also had 120 kilometre per hour winds in January. I reinforced the windows, hammering planks of wood across them as though zombies were coming. Don't worry honey, that groan is not the approach of the walking dead. It's just the house about to blow apart.

It recently got down to -46 C with the windchill. Someone went past my house walking a dog. The pet was looking at its owner as if to say, "Can't I just use the toilet in the house?"

Oh, well. January is over. Just a bit left to go, right? 

Ha.

Outdoor madness

People in the Prairies know that this can drag on until April or May. The calendar says spring starts March 20, but we know that's just the beginning of Winter Part III: The Freezening ("This time it's personal").

The first part of winter is fun. That pretty November hoarfrost is 'Grammable and the December holiday season is hotly anticipated. The real soul-crushing doldrums come in February and beyond. 

With the double-barrel blast of winter and COVID restrictions, I'm realizing I've become a shut-in. A hermit. An indoor cat. 

I go to work. I get groceries. Otherwise, I don't leave my house, not even for fresh air.

I have friends that are outdoor people. How I loathe them.

They think they're so cool with their strong hearts, rosy cheeks and ski pants (a clothing item I don't own). 

They're clearly stricken with some sort of madness.

"Hey, it's super cold outside! Trudging through knee-high snow really breaks a person's spirit! Wanna go cross-country skiing?"

Uh…no. I'd rather stay in and see if I can fuse my DNA with the couch, creating some sort of half-human, half-sofa monster. I might also make French toast.

You do you

I don't really hate these outdoorsy types (yes I do). I am covering for my own insecurities. 

Outdoorsy types are better, nobler, healthier. I have sunken eyes and the light hurts my skin. No bedsores yet though, so I've got that going for me. 

Am I missing anything by hunkering down? Or is a rich inner life a good thing? Should you be worried about me?

I don't know. But I do know that I love my fortress of solitude (well, solitude with a couple of noisy children, but you learn to tune them out). 

Whether you're an indoor cat or outdoorsy type, you should do what works for you, as long as it's not truly affecting you in unhealthy ways. 

Summer will come again. COVID restrictions will one day be in the history books. I'll return to my friends, concerts and bootlegged Roughrider ponchos. 

I'll see you in the real Saskatchewan spring. You know, in July. Until then I'll wave from the window when you snowshoe by. 

This column is part of CBC's Opinion section. For more information about this section, please read this editor's blog and our FAQ.

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