We’re still weeks away from the first day of spring, but with the arrival of March, I’m already in a better mood. I’m more hopeful, patient, and glad. It didn’t hurt that we broke 60 degrees today. Nevermind we’re back in the forties and windy tomorrow. Nevermind snow is predicted for Friday. March, the most schizophrenic month of the year, is a month where my expectations are at an all-time low, and the appearance of buds on a tree or a warm sun on a dry day will lure pasty Philadelphians out of the shadows of their drafty rowhomes and onto the Schuylkill River Trail or to Paine’s Skate Park or out in shamrock booty shorts and a green tank top for St. Patrick’s Month. I don’t know if it’s the vitamin D or what, but people seem more willing to hold the door open for you at after-school pick up. Starbucks baristas call your name with aplomb not seen since December.
For me, these early hints of spring suggest an emergence from a darkened cave. I know, a little hyperbolic, but bear with me. But the colder weather keeps all of us indoors, and for introverts like me, winter provides a logical excuse to close myself off in the warmth of my home and…write. And watch TV. Potluck with neighbors. Fold laundry, lots and lots of laundry. Cuddle with the family on the couch. Bake macaroni and cheese. Learn how to make tamales. Get around to finally hanging some pictures on the walls. Tackle a few of the books collecting dust on my Kindle.
The inverse of that is I have a tendency to get a little weird when I’m away from people too long. For example, I have a verbal relationship with my dog in the winter that I don’t have when the weather is more accommodating. Frankly, Jazzy wishes I’d shut the hell up and find some friends I could wax poetic about the Oxford comma or how much I hate semi-colons. I often catch him giving me a look of utter repugnance when I’m standing there in the entryway of our house clad in my running tights, weather-proof jacket, gloves, and beanie, hemming and hawing about leaving the cozy safety of our home to run a few miles in the wind and ice. It’s not that bad once you’re out there, I tell myself. Liar, I also tell myself. Spring cannot come fast enough.