Yesterday was a balmy 46 degrees in the Boston area.  The sun felt good on my face, and I could hear birds chirping in welcome accompaniment to the beautiful sound of dripping, melting, snow.  Good riddance to you, snow mounds and black ice sheets.

My cabin fever feels like a thing of the past.  For much of February vacation week, the Boston area has been freezing cold and alternately snowing and raining icicles.  The streets and sidewalks have been treacherous, and driving can be tense, with so many streets reduced to one-way because of all the snow piled up.  The combination of freezing temperatures, bitter wind and icy snow can lead to enforced cave-dwelling.  I won’t even go into the bad behavior that intensifies around illegal use of handicapped-parking spaces when it’s winter.

Sometimes I can embrace the bad weather, and Marianne and I have marathon scrabble competitions, we try out lots of new recipes, and some napping happens.  We read books, do Facebook, listen to music.  This all gets really old quickly.

Being stuck at home when you haven’t chosen to hibernate can feel isolating, boring, crazy-making.  You are at the mercy of the elements (and sometimes of others to help you).    It’s hard to imagine what it can be like if you are someone for whom it’s easy to strap on your Yak Traks and walk out your door, weather be damned.

I know because I live in both worlds – I can snowshoe on out of here if I want —  but I also hang out a lot with a good friend who uses a wheelchair, so lots of times I don’t.   It’s not having the choice that makes the world of difference between a cozy week at home and a somewhat-smothered existence.