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.
Both ways.
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.
Go South.
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...
Feb-U.
Rary.
Wake me when it's March.
