So Spring has finally sprung! How do I know? I hear birds chirping outside my bedroom window at the crack of dawn. I see curbs and all the potholes winter left behind. I replaced my Gore-Tex infused full-body winter survival ensemble with a movement friendly non down-filled jacket. I wore sandals the other day even though it was only for an hour and my toes turned purple. The beautiful, brown grass is snow-free and the leafless branches dance in the breeze. (OK, they whip around like frenzied, many-tentacled aliens in the soul-crushing, never ending tempest ―otherwise known as wind― but at least now it’s not snow infested blizzards but eye gouging dirt storms.)
Oh sure, our 77 degree day lasted exactly one day and it’s only supposed to be in the 40’s next week but in this part of the country, we rejoice because we know beyond a shadow of a doubt the cruel, dark, frigid winter has been conquered once again. You would think all the signs listed above would be the omen propelling our certainty that spring has arrived but no. It is something that on first blush escapes one’s notice. But once noticed, confirms the change of season in the most definitive and unarguable way possible.
What is this powerful, pseudo-mystical phenomenon I am waxing poetic about? It’s . . . air conditioning.
Yep, as soon as the calendar crawls its way into April and we hit our first shorts-wearing day, every restaurant, coffee shop, convenience store, gas station, shopping mall and place of business cranks up those heat reducing apparatuses. (The exception being schools as they are on a tight budget.)
Cool ―not as in awesome, great, wonderful― but cool as in cold. Cold as in I can’t wear my new sleeveless, flimsy, barely there dress because if I do, I will freeze off parts of my body I would just as soon keep! Cold as in I shouldn’t have to wear more clothes indoors that out! Cold as in it’s warmer outside in January than in these frozen tundras manufactured by humankind as soon as day-light savings begins!
What is wrong with this picture?! We complain all winter about how our joints won’t move and how goose bumps become a fashion choice but as soon as we see the light at the end of the tunnel, we panic. It’s as if we can’t accept the God-given gift of warmth and if one drop of sweat squeezes out of our pores, we fear it means we’ve gone soft. We fear it means we aren’t hardy and rugged and will never survive the next winter if we let down our guard for even one second. To indulge in comfort of any kind goes against the pioneer spirit of our ancestors which is infused into our DNA.
But I am tired of wearing sweat pants in summer. I hate having to bring mittens when I go out to eat so the utensils won’t freeze to my fingers. And no one should have to wear a parka to the frozen food section of the grocery story in the middle of a 90 degree day!
I’ve come to the conclusion that Spring is just a devious scheme, a delusion with no connection to reality. It’s a lousy trick designed to make us believe in the promise of Summer. I’ll admit it, I drank the Kool-Aid on this fantasy for years but it’s time I faced the appalling truth. The truth I have spent a lifetime trying to repress.
There is no such thing as Spring.
I guess since I already spilled the beans on this conspiracy I might as well go all the way and confess the real truth. . .
. . . I miss winter . . .