OK, I’ve had enough of winter. There, I said it. I feel better now. It’s a hard confession because it makes me feel old. The people who like Maine but don’t like winter and leave it are called “snowbirds.” This translates to senior citizens, and Lord knows, most people don’t like being referred to as a senior citizen.

So, as the snowbirds are living it up down south, we’re left to shovel and shiver here. Rich in age and wisdom, the snowbirds know what’s good for them, and they take action. Perhaps we should pay closer attention.

These days, my children seem to think they know what’s good for them, too. They’ve picked up a travel magazine and have feasted their eyes on Florida, the Bahamas and Mexico. My middle son has searched Webs sites for good deals on airline tickets. Anything to get out of Maine!

In my youth, this thought never even came to mind. When winter arrived, the snowy winter festivities began – and I recall there being lots of snow. I loved it. At home in Massachusetts, we’d play for hours in the stuff. Ski holidays were spent in New York State. Up in the Adirondacks, you could climb snow banks up to roof tops and slide off the metal roofs. You could drive for miles in what appeared to be snow caves, as snow banks towered over your car on either side.

Yes, I snubbed my nose at these snowbirds who ran away from the white stuff, dismissing them as wimps. But now, I confess, I can see the telltale signs that point toward the fact that I am facing aging denial.

I need to visit the hair salon a little more often to keep those gray hairs covered with youthful blonde highlights. I noticed that the day before I turned age 48, I began getting promotional materials from AARP. As I wander about the house, not wanting to deal with what’s outside, I’ve noted my interest in sweating, soaking and sleeping. I joined a gym, but the truth is, I joined for the sauna – guilt and denial play a part here, too. I force myself to earn the sauna by jumping on the bike first for 20 minutes or so.

Pacing myself with my denial version of winter escape, after the gym, I treat myself to a leisurely hot bath, sometimes with bubbles and other times therapeutic salts. Emerging from the waters, relaxed, I slather my dry skin and chapped lips with lotion and balms, and move onto the next phase – a nice long nap. After nap time it’s time for tea, and I peruse the newspaper fliers and catalogs. Let’s see, there may be some signs of spring. Asparagus has gone down in price by a dollar a pound, and it’s time to start thinking about starting those seeds.

Yes, there’s no denying it. I’m wishing winter away. Call me a wimp, call me old. I don’t care. I’ve grown in age and wisdom enough to declare that winter is for the birds. And birds instinctively know what’s best for them – that’s why they fly south.