There was a time not so long ago when I didn’t mind the cold.  In fact, one might say I embraced it.  Even more than that, I didn’t mind the extreme cold. 

For, when I was young, winter meant one thing – it meant that Spring was around the corner and with that came track.

So I would run outdoors in the winter, every day.

Training in the cold winter made me tough (I think).

I embraced running, in shorts, in the cold. 

That way, when I raced and the weather was not ideal, I could look back at those dreadful weather days and not worry about race day conditions

But that was then – and this is now.

And now – I do not embrace the cold.

I shun it.

I curse it.

And so, it curses me back.

I still wear shorts year round. 

Even if it’s 10 degrees outside, I’ll wear shorts.

But I think winter sees this as a slap in the face and it wants to 1-up me.

It kind of made me develop an attitude about it.

Winter has a chip on it’s shoulder.

And as such, it’s an angry season.

Winter is the only season that wakes up every day and chooses violence.

First of all, why does air hurt?

I step outside and the wind slaps me in the face like I owe it money.

My eyes water, my nose runs, and my body immediately goes into panic mode like, “We are not built for this. Abort mission.”

And let’s talk about clothing.

Winter, in it’s coldest, has you dressed like you’re about to summit Everest just to check the mail.  You’ve got socks on top of socks, a coat so thick you can’t turn your head, and gloves that somehow still allow your fingers to freeze while preventing you from doing literally anything useful. Try picking up keys in gloves. You can’t. Gloves are a lie.

Gloves encourage to be lazy. 

Drop something – leave it – it’s not worth it.

Then there’s the car.

Every winter morning starts with me standing in my driveway, scraping ice off my windshield and the windshields of the ladies in my house, questioning every decision I’ve ever made. The scraper never works as advertised. It just moves the ice around like it’s playing defense. Meanwhile, my car is “warming up” but only the back left vent seems committed to the task.

And why does winter make everything wet but not in a helpful way?

Snow melts into that gray slush that ruins shoes, pants, and dreams. You step in it once and now your sock is damp for the rest of the day.

That’s it. Day’s over. Go home.

Inside isn’t safe either.

You’re wearing a hoodie, wrapped in a blanket, sitting next to a space heater… and still cold. The heat is on, the bill is astronomical, and somehow the bathroom is always 30 degrees colder than the rest of the house. And don’t get me started on cold toilet seats.

That’s not weather — that’s a threat.

Winter also steals daylight like a criminal.

It’s 5:47 PM and suddenly it’s midnight. You haven’t even had dinner yet and your body is like, “We sleep now.”

Productivity? Gone.

Motivation? Hibernate mode.

And some people say, “But it’s cozy!”

No. Cozy is a choice. Winter is forced coziness. I didn’t choose this blanket—I’m in witness protection.

Sure, snow is pretty…

For about 14 minutes.

Then it becomes ice, slush, salt stains, bad parking, late arrivals, and people slipping in public and pretending it didn’t happen while everyone silently agrees it definitely did.

Yes, winter has holidays.

And soup.

And acceptable nap culture.

But make no mistake—

Winter is not a season.

It’s an endurance test.

But here in Delaware we have our own winter with it’s own bitchy attitude.

Delaware doesn’t give you a “real winter”.  Delaware gives you wet cold. The kind that crawls into your bones off the bay and just… stays there.

You’re not cold because it’s snowing. You’re cold because the air is damp and judgmental.

Delaware wet cold hits you like you were talking about it’s mother.

Delaware Winter Is built different (and not in a good way)

The wind.  Good lord, the wind.

It comes off the ocean, the bay, and apparently straight from hell. It doesn’t matter if you’re in Rehoboth, Lewes, Milton, or standing behind a Wawa trying to block it with your body—it finds you. Wind in Delaware doesn’t blow. It attacks.

Let’s talk about snow. 

No, not real snow, like in postcards or that you sing about in Christmas Carols, I’m talking about Delaware snow.

Delaware snow is never enough to be magical, but always enough to be annoying.

We don’t get a blizzard—we get three inches of slush that turns into ice, then refreezes just to spite you. The roads are half plowed, half “good luck,” and every side street is a science experiment.

And salt.

Salt is everywhere.

On your car. On your boots. On your floors. On your soul. You walk into your house and immediately feel like you need to apologize to the hardwood.

You’ve given up on the entry rug and now you just throw down an old towel.

 ….. or is that just the Sumstine household?

Now the car situation.

Scraping your windshield in Delaware means scraping ice, then rain, then ice again because the weather changed its mind overnight. Your defroster is working hard but the windshield is like, “No.”

Meanwhile, your hands are frozen, your coffee is still too hot to drink, and you’re already late.

And parking?

Forget it. Snowbanks appear where parking used to be, and now you’re parallel parking next to a mound of ice that could collapse at any moment. This is not driving—this is an obstacle course.

Inside isn’t much better.

The heat is on, the bill is outrageous, and yet the house still feels chilly. One room is tropical. One room is arctic. The bathroom? Antarctica. You sit down on that toilet seat and immediately regret every life choice that led you here.

People say, “At least it’s quiet in the winter.”

Yes. Because no one wants to leave their house. Not for errands. Not for plans. Not even for things they like.

If it’s not absolutely necessary, it can wait until spring—or at least until it hits 45 degrees.

So yes, Delaware winter has its moments.

A nice snow on the beach looks great—for five minutes.

Then the wind shows up and reminds you who’s in charge.

Because Jim says: Delaware winter isn’t cold — it’s damp, windy, slushy, and mildly hostile.

And if you survive it, you’ve earned Old Bay on everything

• Ramblings
• That Guy