51ASfYyYZfL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_Word has it there’s another nor’easter coming our way this weekend. I can only say, ARE  YOU  KIDDING??? That would mean winter storms three weekends in a row. Enough already.

In the blizzard two weeks ago, we lost power immediately. On Friday and Saturday it was nice to curl up by the fireplace while the winds howled outside. I made two kinds of soup, read by the Amish oil lamp, and felt a cozy kinship with the generations who lived in our house before the advent of central heat and electricity. It’s only a hardship if you think it is, after all. It’s good to go back to basics once in a while.

By Sunday though, the charm was wearing off the pioneer life. The temperature in most of the house hovered just above 32. If I spent five minutes in my office, my fingers would get numb – not that there was much to do there since the phones and computers were down. Damn inconvenient. Finally we decamped to Ginny and John’s house for hot showers and Downton Abbey.

It’s all relative, of course. I just finished reading A Woman in the Polar Night by Christiane Ritter, a wonderful memoir written in 1934 about the year she spent with her scientist husband in a tiny isolated cabin on Spitsbergen, near the Arctic Circle. In the northern winter they have some serious blizzards – like where the snow reaches above the roof of the cabin. It’s dark for several months running. Food consists of dry stores and fresh-killed seal meat.

Ms. Ritter’s experience was at times pure misery, but at times pure rapture over the beauty and quiet of the icy landscape. It’s not an experience I’m likely to have, but I’m glad she shared it with me. Read it if you’re feeling cranky about the weeks of winter to come.