Feb. 8--"In the exhaustless catalogue of Heaven's mercies to mankind, the power we have of finding some germs of comfort in the hardest trials must ever occupy the foremost place."

-- Charles Dickens, who never spent a winter in Northeast Pennsylvania.

As a matter of fact, yes, it is cold enough for me.

Thanks for asking.

You know, I was having trouble deciding whether it was, in fact, cold enough for me. My thoughts often scatter when a razor sharp arctic wind is stripping the flesh from my skull. Your query, which several others have posed to me this bleak season, has reminded me what folly it is to crawl out of bed between Christmas and Easter.

Thanks again, my cheery, chapped friend.

Yes, I understand you didn't mean any harm. You were just offering a greeting, not really asking a question as dumb as the day is cold. While we're shivering out here on the sidewalk, I have a stumper for you.

You won't believe this, but when I was walking up this street, the wind was blowing into my face. Now I'm walking down the same street IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION and the wind is STILL BLOWING INTO MY FACE! I MEAN, IS THAT EVEN BLEEPING POSSIBLE?

WELL?!! IS IT?!!

I've been a little crabby lately.

That's normal for this time of year, a period of sorrow, longing and starchy casseroles I call "Janbruary." Winter in our stiff neck of the woods is a trial that would wither Dickens. This one seems destined for "Worst Winters Week" on the History Channel, as soon as some professor at Kook State University is willing to say on camera that Nostradamus saw this one coming.

I can hear the haters groaning already. It's winter, buddy. Numbing cold, stinging despair and damp socks are all part of the Faustian bargain we make each spring. Winter comes the same time every year, and it's never pleasant, so suck it up and quit whining.

Fair enough. The calendar holds no surprises, but this winter is different. It's not just the long stretches of single-digit temperatures, sunlight deprivation and Beyonce singing Etta James tunes that have me and so many others growling like shorn sled dogs.

The headlines are as bitter as the weather: Layoffs, bailouts, crooked judges, church closings, soaring heating bills, sinking retirement accounts, a pair of costly, open-ended wars, blah, blah, blah. When peanut butter is a life-or-death proposition, it's a mean season by any measure.

The ABC News/Washington Post Consumer Comfort Index -- which I confess I'd never heard of until I Googled "consumer" and "comfort" -- just recorded its worst yearly start since 1985.