Anytime my weather app informs me of temperatures in the -40 degrees Celcius range, three things immediately come to mind: 1. Gross. 2 Why do we even live here? and 3. I ain’t going anywhere. Well, not if I can help it. With a car safely ensconced in the garage, I know it will probably start if it has to, unlike all the poor, angry vehicles hiding under their snow blankets like hibernating bears. They just want to be left alone until the spring.

Of course, not everyone has the luxury of time off in the in-between of Christmas and New Year’s. Work still happens – especially emergencies like busted water pipes and furnace breakdowns and cars that need to be boosted. But during the Christmas season – at least in non-Omicron variant times – we sometimes need to PARTY even if the temperature registers stupid.

When I was a kid, the in-between time stretched all the way to January 7 which was Ukrainian Christmas or maybe even the 14th, the Eastern calendar’s New Year’s Day equivalent. At least once a year, during that time, there was always a family party to go to. Most often, I remember it at my grandparents’ house – my Baba and Gigi’s. For most of the year they lived in a few rooms in what was the old post office in Derwent, but for family get-togethers we overflowed into the large back room lined with couches and chairs. But the family get-together also cirulated from year to year: I remember at least one party at the homes of each of my mom’s five sisters and one brother.

My mom and my aunties all potlucked a turkey roaster full of something – cabbage rolls, meatballs, cheese stuffed crepes – and loaded it onto the table in the middle of all the sofas and chairs. Us kids always went last but we never minded because once we had our plates full of our favorites, we got to sit around the kids table and talk turkey, away from the pesky adults. It was a chance to compare what we got for Christmas and show off new Christmas clothing but most of all, we just loved to hang out together, laughing and sharing stories. After dessert, which was left out for the rest of the night – score! – we found every house’s hiding spots and board games, we practiced swear words with each other and tried each other’s new jewelry and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers.

I don’t remember how cold it was outside because we were inside – safe, warm, very full and happy. I do remember at the end of one of those nights exiting the house into a blizzard and my Uncle John blazing the trail for us in his four-wheel drive Bronco. The Chevy Impala would never have made it otherwise. It was probably pretty nerve wracking for Dad the driver and Mom the worrier, but I was probably asleep in the back seat, oblivious until someone carried me into the house and dumped me in my bed. What a life!

The in-between is a time to stay home if you can or to go if you must and hopefully the weather won’t get you down either way. Let your memories warm you. And may you make new ones that are just as good or better to keep going you all the new year.