Shack Fever

You Could Be Next...

Winter is upon us once again.  Early winter is rather cool; sliding down hills, making snowmen and playing in the snow before it piles up to the rafters. In late winter, people in northern climates tend to experience a variety of neuroses, colloquially termed: shack fever.

Not only must we endure the debilitating Arctic air mass that seems to hover over our section of the weather map like a giant stink, we must also suffer from what noted dermatologist, C. Alla Zitsgo, terms “Phishbellyitus, or, acute sunshine deficiency.”

Long cold winters can cause strange behaviors in the people who endure them year after year. (photo by photollurg – Fotolia)

It’s cold and dark for a frightening many calendar pages.  Parks, beaches, sidewalks, and streets become inaccessible because of snow and most of our summer world is off limits.  Cars frost up and refuse to function.  People stay in bed and refuse to function.  Water lines freeze and streets become badlands of frozen dirt piles and construction equipment, keeping city workers on chilly overtime and the rest of us awake ’round the clock. It’s no wonder people begin to act… strange.

I telephoned my cousin Clyde during the freeze: (Clyde is Carl’s older brother who lives locally) “Wanna go out for a couple beers?”

“Can’t.”

“Howcum?”

“@#*&!! water is frozen.”

“So?”

“So, I stink.  I need a bath.  I’ve been trying to start my car and I got grease all over me.  Can I come over and wash up?”

“Uh… no.”

“Howcum?”

“Because you stink and you’ve got grease all over you and you need a bath.  Besides, my water’s frozen too and there’s a city crew excavating my street so parking is a real pisser.  Let’s just walk downtown and meet there.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?  Have you looked at the thermometer lately?”

“…Good point.  Hey! The snowplow just refilled my driveway for me.  Now I get to go outside where it’s thirty-one below and… shovel snow again…”

“I’m gonna lay under a comforter on my sofa and watch some TV, maybe read a little, count the icicles on the old man’s house across the street…  Ha!  The wind just sent his garbage cans tumbling into the street, ha-ha-ha…”

“Uh…See ya ’round, Clyde.”

“Yeah, har-har.  Here comes a snowplow, oho-ho-ho-haaa–…”

I haven’t heard from Clyde lately.  I could sense the onset of shack fever; hear the high tremor in his voice that hinted of lunacy.  I should sneak over there soon and remove his guns.

The next day, I saw a man hitting a snowbank with an axe.

Later, I glanced into an unshaded window while going by in my car and saw an old woman wearing a huifi strangling a cat.

I heard of a man who tried to thaw his own pipes by building a huge tire fire on his neighbor’s lawn.  The police dragged him away, before he could light the gasoline, struggling and cursing his empty Cricket.

A young-sounding voice phoned and asked me if I had Prince Albert in a can.  Then he threatened to eviscerate me with a rusty saw if I did.

It’s getting nuttier out there.

Yet, there are things you can do to deal with “shack fever” during these long days at winters’ end.  Sitting around and moping is always a lot of fun.  Some say moping is more fun if you do it while staring at Partridge Family reruns on your TV.

You can sit around and bitch about the cold and the pipes and the car and your job and the lousy warm beer the ol’ lady bought on sale and those kooks in Lansing and … oh well, you get the picture.

Or you can sit around and combine moping and bitching and have yourself a hell of a time.

Or, maybe, just maybe, you can go out and visit some friends you haven’t seen in a while.  Take in a movie, some live music, a lecture or play at the university, visit the library, the PEIF or other grunt-an’-sweat facility – use your imagination, just get up and find something to do!

And don’t forget to shut off the TV on your way out.

by David Aho

I am a retired corrections officer who has written extensively over the years for local papers and magazines. A father of three and grandfather of two, I devote my energies and inabilities to family, writing, golf, exercise and playing percussion. (This causes me to stay up late at night and drink beer, darn it.) My wife, Diane, and I live in Marquette with our German Shepherd, Gunther, who diligently pursues any manner of play that causes me to leave my La-Z-Boy. I am an alumnus of MTU and NMU and a Navy veteran of the Viet Nam era. I’ve been a small business owner, salesman, carpenter, auto body repairman, steeplejack, export company manager, cartoonist, corrections officer and I’ve written a crime-fiction novel called “Good Looking Out” which is based in Michigan and available through www.lulu.com under the pseudonym David Michaels.

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