With all due respect to the great writers and philosophers...
February is the cruelest month.... The land lies dead, our memories dull. The warm blanket of forgetful snow shows bleak, broken grass in patches of despair. All hope is lost! Alas! Spring – and hopes of a Cubbie World Championship – are both denied. Cardinal fans needn't feel so smug.
One must be careful these days to avoid hyperbole, to take oneself too seriously. When one's extremities are frozen by a mere glance out yon window, there is shelter under red rock. With Travelocity, Expedia, and Hotwiredotcom, Kansas City becomes a tropic port.
February is the winter of our discontent.... February is the “not quite time” time. Holiday parties are finally over. The decorations are put away, except for that creepy Elf on a Shelf hiding between the couch cushions or at the far edge of the bookshelf watching... watching....
We half-heartedly throw Valentines' hearts around, making much ado about nothing. Filling up the nothing with something until... until.. until what?
We make plans. Plans for Spring and Summer, which will surely come, will they not? Home Shows, Garden Shows, RV Shows, Boat Shows, Car Shows, Motorcycle Shows, Dog Shows, Cat Shows, Hamster Shows and Dust Bunny Shows. The warmth generated by the over-coated masses, the narcotic effects of a day under flourescent lights, the smell of the fuel-oil, the roar of the generators ... all do little to dispell the fact that you have miles to go 'till you find your car. And it's all uphill. In the snow.
And the wind. The wind. The wind.
February is the best of times, it is the worst of times.... Mother Nature teases us relentlessly with brilliant sunshine, made even more brilliant by myriad tiny mirrors of accumulated snow. Her blinding radiance is accompanied by nose hair-freezing, sub-zero temperatures and breath-stealing wind-chills.
She is a tri-polar witch, melting snow today only to freeze it tomorrow and cover it with more snow overnight. Except for those patches of melty-freezy-mix lurking in the shadows on 40-degree days, masquerading as wet pavement, waiting to illustrate just how slick snot on a doorknob really is.
Go South, my friend, go South! Go South in February, while Snowbirds pack for migration North and Spring Breakers dream of beer-filled pools. While hoteliers ponder empty rooms and falling revenues. Go South while gas is cheap, and the last of the Christmas bills are pending. Go South before you regain your senses, realize your credit card is maxed-out, or try on last year's swimsuit.
Before the next freezing rain falls.
February is the foulest Dementor, draining peace, hope and happiness.... When the first snow fell (waaaaaayyyy back) in November, Facebook lit up with humorous photos, videos and cartoons of how we were tired of winter. By February all we can do is recycle old posts with a weak "lol." Caps Lock is too much effort.
We muster enough anger to curse the groundhog for a day or two, then slip back into our Febru-stupor. We rage, rage against the dying of the ligh…ehhhht. Why bother? Even daylight savings doesn't return until mid-March.
There may be some places where February is peachy-freakin' keen, but Eastern Iowa is not one of them.
So, with all due respect...
Wake me when it's March.