Winter can be tough: Not the cold, but the late sunrises.

No matter how hard I fight against it, being lazy is easy. It’s easy to lie in bed a little longer when the covers are warm, but the house is chilly. It’s easy to hit the snooze button just one more time. Some mornings I wake up grumpy. On weekend mornings I let my husband sleep.

After the short days, the afternoon sunsets encourage early dinners and a nightly pilgrimage to the couch where we binge-watch television. Some nights we try to shake ourselves from this inertia, so we read. While I read just about anything, Bill prefers nonfiction and is drawn to articles that list ways to boost financial security, analyze sports teams or ensure healthy living.

It’s this last preoccupation that has given me a little leverage. With retirement looming in his future and already in my present, Bill repeatedly reads articles on golden-year health and happiness. They all boil down to the same ideas. Sleep — not a problem, he is snoring in his recliner as I write. Healthy eating — again not a problem, except when his girlfriend Little Debbie shows up. Exercise — Bailey the dog takes care of that. Doctor checkups — we are familiar with Miralax and colonoscopies. Social interactions — ah, there lies the problem. To fix this, we need to move off the sofa.

As the social director of the family, I am constantly on the lookout for new activities. And like my reading preferences, with entertainment, I don’t discriminate. Over the years, I have dragged friends and family to Drag Queen Tupperware Parties, Murder Mystery Dinners, G. Gordon Liddy lectures, museums and Howl Story Slams. While the kids were still home our nights were filled with practices, games, concerts, and plays. We never needed a couch-ectomy — until now.

While we love our home, we need to get out more. North Country New Year was wonderful. We laughed at improv, admired the gospel choir, flailed our way through salsa dancing and enjoyed the fireworks. But while that was a great night, we need more consistent socialization.

It’s human nature to migrate toward comfortable things. So, it’s no surprise that we habitually end up at the Civic Center. All three of our kids played hockey and Bill coached, so this is familiar territory. We’ve skated a few times and decided to attend a game. High school games still draw a crowd, so there’s always someone to talk to. The bonus is that watching hockey is a cheap date, only $2 per person. At that price, Bill is even willing to spring for a hot chocolate.

“You know in a couple of years; I’ll be even a cheaper date?” I teased.

“How so?” Bill asked.

“Senior discount. Only a dollar.”

“Maybe then you’ll be able to get a bag of chips, too,” he said with a grin.

Not having a child on the team made watching the game a different experience. There were no butterflies in our stomachs, released by the fervent hope that our kids would play well. There was no gut-wrenching agony of watching them make a mistake. Without parental laser focus, my attention wandered, and I saw former students, friends, and fellow parents. Other folks were there without any player ties. We weren’t the only ones who just needed to get out of the house.

Between sips of hot chocolate, I struck up a casual conversation with a spectator from the opposing team. After talking about the game and the beautiful new arena, she asked, “And do you have a grandchild playing?”

I silently counted to 10 before I smiled and said, “Nope. I’m not that old yet.”

Then I did some quick mental math and realized that technically I had lied. And, come to think of it, I talked with a lot of grandparents during the game — people I thought of as my contemporaries. But I didn’t correct my statement. Why? Honestly, because I was still bothered by the innocent question.

Have I aged that much? If so, maybe I should look for the silver lining. Old age has benefits, right? Perhaps I should have even tried for the senior admission. If I had done that, I could be munching on chips rather than silently swallowing my self-pity.