Those who complain about Indiana winters should know that I grew up in Buffalo, NY, and, boy, do I have stories.

When she first smelled winter in the air in late October, my mother would always cry out, “Chop wood! Chop liver! Clean the flues, as well as all the sluices, chutes and trenches! Check the straps on every snowshoe and straitjacket!” My mother was always prepared for the snow. The pantry bulged. We sued the contractor who’d built it, but he successfully claimed in court that the house had been bulgy before he got there and that it had been built on bulgy land.

I remember having to awaken before dawn to break the ice that had formed atop the stock tanks. Whether those tanks contained beef or chicken stock, I always had to break through that ice! There was the year that the weight of the snow collapsed the roof on the milk barn. It was also the year we found out that we had a milk barn. It was no wonder that the roof collapsed! The barn was made of milk!

I remember years when we couldn’t open the front door of our house because of the snow, so we occupied ourselves by singing such classic folk songs as “Oh! Dear! What Can the Matter Be? (We’re Buried in Snow, You Blockhead),” “Frog Went A-Courtin’ (And Froze to Death),” and “Where Have All the Flowers Gone? (They’re Under Six Feet of Snow, You Dingbat).”

The snowstorms of my childhood roared like the shark in “Jaws: The Revenge.” In fact, the sound engineer on that film got the growl of the shark from one of anchorman Irv Weinstein’s wintertime newscasts. The bellow came from a storm that Weinstein was reporting on, not from Weinstein.

Alas, almost nothing I just wrote is true. What is true about growing up in Buffalo in the 1970s and 1980s is that there was a lot of snow and residents of western New York did not make a big deal about winter. Another thing that is true: Despite the harshness of my childhood winters, I continued to love winter well into my 40s. But I realized recently that I deeply dislike winter from the first frost to the appearance of the first pear blossoms. What happened? And what can I do about it? I know what some of you are going to say: “You have SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder.” Of course I have SAD. I wish that was the only disorder that I have to worry about in the winter.

I also get NED (Numb Extremity Disorder), FIB (Facial Immovability Bitchiness), SIT (Scraper-Induced Tantrums), SAW (Skidding Automobile Wrath), HAG (Hibernation-Associated Gorging), HIT (Hibernation-Induced Tippling), SCAR (Stuck-Car-Associated Rage), SNOT (Seasonal Nosebleed Outrage Trebled), SWIM (Sharp-Wind-Induced Mockery), EBB (Energy Bill Bitterness) and CHAD (Cold-Helped Affability Defiance).

I think what happened to me is what happens to a lot of people: The difficulties of winter began to outnumber the charms of it. What I need to do is rediscover those charms or uncover some new ones. Here are some Scandinavian winter optimization tips I learned (and how I think they can be applied) …

Make a vision board as a way of manifesting your goals in life: If your vision board fails to cheer you up, you can always eat Charcuterie off it.

Focus on the pleasure of winter, rather than the pain: Don’t walk in the door and say, “The cold wind makes my cheeks sting.” Instead say, “The cold wind really zazzled my swonnicles and my giblets have never been perkier.” Speak in kind ways about the weather. Don’t say, “I wish the winter weather had a face so I could punch it.” Instead say, “That bruise on my butt from falling on the ice is really starting to look like Winston Churchill.”

Call a friend or family member that you haven’t spoken to in a while: Hang up when they answer. Don’t answer when they call back. This brings unexpected passion into their sleepy lives.

Make a list of everything for which you’re grateful: There is no law against using a post-it note.

Focus on what you can do rather than what you can’t: Say, “Sure, I can’t safely sunbathe in the backyard. But I can eat ten hot dogs using apple fritters as buns!”

Invite a winter enthusiast over to see if their enthusiasm rubs off: If it doesn’t, you can always turn up your heat really high.

Accept the darkness: Every living thing shares similar biological rhythms. After all, plants don’t fight the winter, do they? That’s because they’re cowards. Go for evening walks in your neighborhood. Cut through lawns and mince suspiciously. Do this because you love your neighbors and you want them to get off the couch and come to their front windows, energized by terror.

Follow these steps and you may not learn to love winter, but you’ll be more entertained by it.

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