Days like today, when the sun shines and the temperatures soar into the 50’s, when the birds sing and the kids leave on their first bike ride of the season, these are days when the entire countryside emits a collective sigh. The sigh of warmth and hope and the sigh that says, “We made it! We made it through another winter!”
You could argue that it’s not spring yet, that spring doesn’t really start until March 20-something, and you’d be technically correct. You could also argue that it’ll get cold and maybe even snow again before warm weather hits for good, and you’d probably be right about that as well. You could argue that I’ll probably regret having turned off the furnace and opened the windows, and in a few hours when the sun goes down I’ll probably agree with you on that. But now, when I can sit in my house and hear the birds, when the cats nestle themselves up on the window sills to be close but not too close to the outside world that, in reality, scares them to death, when the dogs run happily in the back yard without threat of frostbite and when the sound of the wind chime means soft spring breezes and not an impending blizzard, I feel like spring.
When I feel like spring, I actually feel like cleaning the house. I feel like cleaning actually makes it clean and maybe even brings some of the spring inside with the warmer air instead of just moving around dust that I can’t ever get rid of in the winter. When I feel like spring, I feel like writing. Let’s face it, I didn’t write much this winter. I mean, I looked back on my blog, and I only wrote two or three posts all winter. Didn’t do any more than that in my journal, and I certainly didn’t put any words worth reading on any other sort of paper or digital file. When spring comes, though, my brain begins to emerge from the Netflix-induced haze of staying up too late and binging on crime shows. I start thinking things like, “why do I even care about watching that stuff when there’s so much good stuff in my head to get down for posterity?” (This may or may not be accurate, but I do think it nevertheless!)
That’s not to say I haven’t done anything this winter. On the contrary, winter is the time when I bury myself in blankets and, while vicariously chasing the latest serial killer on Netflix, knit and crochet enough scarves to warm a small village of the homeless I watch giving tips to the cops on Law and Order. It’s the time when I go to work and then come home and put on pj’s and don’t leave again. And if I have stuff to do in the evening and can’t hibernate, I lament the lost knitting/Netflix/pajama time alone. Winter should maybe be the time when I read more, but I hate to admit that I barely read because when I do I fall asleep. Probably because the night before I was up until 2 am…you know, twisting endless strands of yarn into clothing and keeping in touch with my cop friends.
I’ve thought a lot about this cycle. It happens every year. I like to do different things in different seasons, and the thought of doing them in other seasons really sorta repulses me. For example, give me a crochet hook and a ball of yarn in July, and I might just throw it back at you. No interest. Tell me to go and put on workout clothes and run a couple of miles on the treadmill in a dark (the lights won’t work for some ridiculous reason) garage in January, and my guilt cannot overpower my sense that nobody really notices the extra 18 pounds I’ve put on this winter, so why bother?
Just kidding…I don’t think I’ve put on 18 pounds…I may have…but, anyway, that’s all to say I don’t want to run in the winter, and in the summer I can’t imagine not.
I used to feel bad about this, used to think to myself that I should enjoy my pursuits all the time and that I should practice them year round because I probably lost some ability, maybe diminished my talent in those times when I ignored something. In the last ten years or so, I’ve stopped chastising myself for my predictable inconsistency. I’ve started realizing that this is how people are. I mean, even nature in my part of the world reflects that. Always changing but always the same. Just about the time I think I’ll burn alive in the glaring sun of summer, fall hits and cooler weather brings relief. I break out my favorite sweaters and recall how comforting it is to wrap up and snuggle in and forget the world outside all winter. Then when the cold hangs around for a few months and I feel like my feet are permanent icicles and I move the heater under my desk at work closer and closer as the cold creeps deeper and deeper into my core, the sun comes out and ta da! It’s spring, and the cold becomes a thing of the past!
Ever notice how almost the moment spring hits, it’s hard even to remember snow? I mean, I still see snow piles at the end of my driveway today if I look for them, but I’m forgetting it already. That’s how it goes. If I didn’t have snow and cold, I don’t think I’d appreciate warmth and sun as much. The darkness of winter makes me more thankful for the light of summer. When the cold, dark days end and the spring arrives, we can start to forget the snow and the wind. If we didn’t, we’d move to Florida in despair!