Ammi Midstokke: Don’t miss your chance
Well folks, I hope you didn’t miss your chance. In some merciful reprieve of the Pacific Northwest winter-that-would-be-spring, the sun came out on Saturday.
It was glorious. People were running in their shorts. Trailhead parking lots were full. Drivers were holding up traffic at four-way stops with their benevolent back and forth waving of who ought to go first.
And at least one man was strutting shirtless across Sandpoint’s Long Bridge, as if May’s promise of melanin were just around the corner.
The generosity of the weather gods, who I suspect are in need of celestial mood stabilizers, may feel more like a prank than a kindness. If your eyes are still scorched, worry not, because we’ll probably not see the sun again until April, when we’ve unpacked our sunglasses in hopeful preparation.
While the heavens opened up for a brief moment to remind us of what exists beyond 4,500 feet, by the following day’s sunrise (which I think is somewhere around 10:00 AM, but who can tell?), the curtains of cloud had been lowered once more.
As something like daylight approached, the fog had crept so thickly between the trees, they appeared as stoic black ghosts, sentinels of silence in a shroud of gray lace. I poured myself another cup of coffee, Googled “Is hygge a natural anti-depressant?” and ordered myself $300 worth of anti-aging face creams in anticipation of my poor judgment once the sun does return. Every summer, I make up for lost time and pretend peeling is a natural form of exfoliation.
The dermatologists reading this are rightly horrified. As is my husband, but for entirely different reasons.
The list of things I should not advise on include, but are not limited to: If a running route is “flat,” how long anything will take, baking and sun protection. Which I like to imagine is a ploy by the bourgeoisie to further socially elevate paleness. I try to balance my carcinogenic flirting with UV rays by investing in an organic, sustainable skin care regimen that acts primarily as bathroom counter decor. I read in one product review that the container “looks nice on my counter,” which seemed like science enough to click the Buy Now button.
For reasons not entirely clear to me, but potentially related to the amount of homemade eggnog I made over Thanksgiving, I decided to do a Dry December. Traditionally, this refers to not drinking any alcohol, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s also a reference to dopamine-fasting. This has been all the rage in the Silicon Valley, where tech-bros and their tech-wealth have found themselves simply too saturated with immediate gratification. In search of the personal growth that can occur from harrowing life experiences, such as surviving on discount Mac & Cheese or having to wait for the official release of a movie, they seek to abstain from all forms of pleasure.
I suspect they could accelerate their enlightenment by enduring a North Idaho December with only sparkling water to drink and a gaggle of children demanding to watch Christmas movies starring Tim Allen. In fact, if you are the owner of a short term rental, feel free to capitalize on this unique marketing opportunity. For an additional fee, you can destroy guests’ cell phones upon arrival.
Those of us who understand the value of our home turf comes in occasional powder days, the sprawling summers, and the autumnal blaze of trees, recognize that any opportunity for dopamine acquisition and storage should be seized. Which is exactly why I made sure I donned a pair of running shorts, hit the trails on Saturday, and nearly blinded myself while the pallor of my legs may have blinded some wildlife. The guy on the Long Bridge is probably responsible for a few distracted Bald Eagles crashing into the lake, too.
The point is: Get it while you can. Whether it is sunshine or laughter or outdoor endorphins or the Christmas present you wrap for yourself and put under the tree – ’tis the season for joy. And sometimes it can feel a little hard to come by.
Ammi Midstokke can be contacted at ammim@spokesman.com