Hibernation

Cold.

Gray.

Gloom.

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Welcome to Ohio in February!

I’ve been hibernating in my den since just after the holidays, packing on a few extra pounds, not by eating berries and honey, but by indulging in copious amounts of black raspberry chip ice cream and Honey Nut Cheerios. Nothing seems to fit “just right” other than my big black fuzzy robe with the white polka dots.  

Last summer while hiking through the Smoky Mountains, my husband and I came across a bear on the trail.  We startled each other (understatement – I may have wet my pants) and fortunately the bear lumbered off in the opposite direction.   Yesterday when I passed the full length mirror, I realized I looked just like that bear. Same coat (except for the dots), same shape, same size, same lumbering gait. 

I was more frightened than I had been last August. 

As I gaped at my reflection, I began to laugh as I recalled the slippers my husband (then boyfriend) gifted me one Christmas back in the early ‘80’s.  They looked like bear claws.  Why he purchased them, I’ll never know.  Thankfully his tastes improved over the years with a bit of training.  Anywho, looking at my image in the glass, I found myself wishing I still had those slippers to complete the look.

The thing about hibernating is that according to the internet bears sleep for about eight months.  I’d give anything to sleep eight hours, let alone eight months! Since my mid 30’s, I’m lucky if I sleep for more than four hours.  The older I get, the worse it becomes. Honestly, it’s nearly un-bear-able (sorry I couldn’t resist). My internal alarm clock is permanently set to 3:22 a.m.  I’ve tried everything.  Dark rooms, cold rooms, weighted blankets, Melatonin, prescriptions, no blue light, no naps, no large meals before bedtime, no wine, no caffeine, no pets, no husband.  No kidding. 

Nothing works.

Honestly, I blame my parents.  When I was a little girl, they taught my sister and me to pray before bed each night which was a wonderful thing, but…

Seriously?!?!? 

It’s no wonder I had nightmares and slept-walked. When I was a kid, I feared if I fell asleep, I might croak and Jack Lord from Hawaii Five-O would sneak in and steal the rhythm right out of me, thus ruining my dreams of becoming a dancer on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand or Soul Train.   

Who could possibly catch some ZZZ’s after all that?

 As I grew older and changed religions, I also changed up my evening prayer. 

It didn’t help. 

I still don’t sleep.  

And the real kicker is, I’m not a very good dancer either.  Must have been the bear slippers with no arch supports.