I’ve never liked January. Between the cold, the gray, and the post-holiday blues, the slog to February feels like an annual chore. But, as the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis draws near, I am in a surprisingly good mood. In fact, I’m positively upbeat. That’s because, compared to last January, this one feels light, airy, and carefree. Who cares about gloomy skies and frigid temperatures? Heck, at least I don’t have cancer! So what if it’s -10 degrees out with the wind chill? At least I don’t have to crawl out of my warm bed at 6am for a doctor’s appointment in Indy. More snow? Bring it on. Last year, the only significant snow accumulation fell on the day of my diagnosis. That was doubly depressing because, typically, Mary and I celebrate snow by breaking out the cross-country skis, putting the dog in the car, and heading for the University’s golf course where I scoot, she skis, and the dog runs cabin-fever-fueled laps around us. We laugh and putter around the snow-covered greens until our cheeks are frozen and the dog runs out of gas. It’s the best thing about winter. Last winter, the skis stayed in the basement. The dog sulked. Not so this year. So far this month, I’ve been skiing three times. The snow is gone now, but I’m hoping for more because, after all, it’s January.