Winter's touch

Reveling in the fuzziest of seasons

Winter is flannel and fleece, wool and its luxuriously addictive sibling, cashmere (thank you, Quince), fuzzy hats, and fur-lined boots. It’s nubbly hand-knitted sweaters and plush robes and shearling slippers. It’s wrapping your fingers around a hot mug of Yorkshire Gold tea in front of a real fire.

Jockamo wondering if he’d like tea (photo by author)

It’s also the smack of cold air when you open the door, flakes of snow (if you’re lucky) or pellets of sleet icing your cheeks (talking about you, January 25th). It’s the slight chill of flannel sheets under a down comforter until warmed by your body. It’s always wearing socks to bed.

I’m blessed/cursed with a heightened sensitivity to touch, which makes wonderful textures (anything fuzzy and soft) even more wonderful and others (satin, slippery silk) abhorrent. I also dislike hugs, massages (I know, weird — but ew, that oil and some stranger’s fingers all over you?), lotions and creams, and getting into water that isn’t bathtub warm. But give me a faux chinchilla fur throw (or a cat to pet), and I’m in heaven.

Grandpa Larry in his new handknit sweater (photo by Jessie McIsaac)

Touch is the most overlooked of the senses, jealous of its more popular siblings. Literally right at your fingertips, touch offers a wonderful access point to mindfulness and relaxation. Right now, try thinking about what you can feel. For me, it’s the smooth hardness of the keyboard, the fuzziness of my fleece jacket, slight roughness of the wool blanket in my lap, and best of all, the long, soft fur of my other pup as he lies beside me.

My writing companion, Phineas (photo by author)

Touch can also create an access point to creativity, be it pottery or sculpture or any of the multitude of crafts. (Don’t forget the classes at Featherstone— I’m intrigued by the sweater mug workshop.) Research shows that touch and the manipulation of objects foster a positive mood and the generation of new ideas. For writers, tactile descriptions can drop the reader into a character (and his bare feet), like poor Pip in Dickens’ Great Expectations: "The marshes were damp, and the wind was cold. I shivered in my thin clothes, and the mud squelched between my toes. Each step was a battle against the sucking clay, which seemed intent on pulling me down into its freezing embrace." For me, I’m intrigued by how we’ll explore touch in Elizabeth Benedict’s upcoming workshop, The Joy of Writing Sex Scenes, sponsored by the MV Times’s Islanders Write.

I’ll leave you with that thought. In the meantime, stay warm, stay cozy, and stay fleecy.

Jessie and Tisbury (photo by Felicia Wang)