Midstokke: Looking for someone to blame for the snow? Pick me.

Seeing as it is the New Year and one might want to take advantage of fresh beginnings, I feel it necessary to come clean, dear readers, particularly to those of you who partake in winter sports.

It is probably my fault we don’t have any snow.

That’s because my windows are made of Tyvek, which is and has been an acceptable fashion trend for housing in the state of Idaho since its commercial launch in 1967. While it is marketed as “selective barrier technology,” it is not necessarily known as a heat barrier. This wouldn’t be a problem if the Tyvek was merely exterior siding, as is most common in these parts.

It all started months ago in the first of many meetings dedicated to enabling my unrelenting demand for huge windows. The love of large windows stems from two homes of my history. The one being my childhood home in which the lights were always dim because the car battery responsible needed charging. (Imagine how I lamented the recent demise of the 100-watt incandescent light bulb, the bright antidote to the shadows of my childhood!) The other being a straw bale cabin with lighting similar to that found in a submerged submarine.

“I want, no, need big windows,” I expressed to my husband during our initial design phase of non-negotiables. He’s pragmatic and thus described things like thermal insulation and tempered glass and the exorbitant cost of windows. Which only rises when they are good windows. And then skyrockets when they are good, large windows. I was undeterred.

I promised to offset the budget with blood, sweat and tears. All have been regularly spent and I’m pleased to say that the siding looks amazing and I soon get to pay for another window by painting and trimming all relevant surface areas. Except for around the windows because, as noted, they are currently Tyvek and my house is single-handedly responsible for global warming.

I know everyone wants to be skiing and, in normal conditions, I would support the various dances, sacrifices and prayers for precipitation. But I assure you, dear readers, a house-building year is not normal conditions. There is a reduction in the number of showers I take, an increase in the volume of pastries I consume, and an inarguable growing presence of gray hairs. Should vast quantities of snow fall on my unfinished project, my head will surely match the landscape.

Surprisingly, this did not already happen when the Window Guy informed us he could not find the windows he’d ordered. Apparently, giant windows weighing hundreds of pounds and costing thousands and thousands of invisible dollars have the same time-space relationship with reality as socks in a dryer.

It should be noted, in that very moment, thousands and thousands of dollars of perfectly good, obscenely enormous windows were leaning against the walls of my unfinished home. They don’t fit. They are three-eighths of an inch too big or too small. It doesn’t matter, really. What matters is this small miracle: It was not my math mistake.

Most math mistakes occurring anywhere within a 5-mile radius of my person are typically directly caused by me. My blood, sweat and tears capabilities can only afford one order of windows. Should I have to afford more windows, we’ll have to start harvesting organs.

“My God!” I said to my husband as he explained our windows were not the right size. “Just tell me,” I said, bracing myself, “whose fault it is.”

I’m not typically a blamer. I’m a let’s-find-the-solution kind of optimist. Yet never have I ever been so relieved to know that other people also suffer the challenges of numbers. Fractions, in particular, are sneaky little things.

“Send Window Guy my condolences,” I said. “Remind him that most people do fine with just one kidney.”

So it’s the second set of gargantuan glass that is missing. At first, we just kept worrying that winter was coming and now winter is here and so are the Electrical Guys and the Drywall Guys and Door Guys and they need not only selective barriers to complete their tasks, but heat. Refusing to accept any delay that keeps me from returning to the soul nourishment of the woods, the house has been heated.

I shamefully avert my eyes as I pass my Tyvek windows, bulging from the frames with the gluttony of warmth. It spills out of the seams like a constant tropical breeze. I close my eyes and imagine Hawaiian vacations I’ll never be able to afford again.

I recognize this nullifies the karmic and climate impact of every carbon-neutral product I’ve purchased. The gaping holes in my house walls have the combined area of a small village and thus have apparently created a global weather event. While El Niño is commonly attributed to warmer temperatures in the Pacific Ocean, this year it’s likely the result of warming temperatures at a specific Pacific Northwest construction site.

For this, I am sorry. Should you happen to see a window truck driving around in circles, please direct them toward North Idaho so we can all get on with winter.

Ammi Midstokke can be contacted at ammim@spokesman.com