Sprung From the Cold

Spring is in the air

I reached my winter low point at 5:55 a.m.  one frosty day, when I was awakened by an odd jolt of silence – the sudden shutoff of my heating system, which had been running nonstop all night.

The power had gone down in my neighborhood, the result of a blown transformer just as the temperature fell to fourteen degrees. I went out to get the newspaper wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, because for some reason I wanted to experience what that kind of chill felt like on bare arms and legs. I got my answer fast: it felt cold; I felt foolish.

Back inside, I watched the indoor temperature drop into the fifties, so I moved a chair close to a sunny window and assumed the power company would come to the rescue. It took five hours. By then, I had lost the last of the few remaining shreds of patience I’d had with our long and merciless winter.

A few days later, we had an ice storm.

I’m woefully cold-natured. Since November, the warmest places in my life have been my shower and my car. Unfortunately, staying in the shower all day would shrivel me like a raisin, and I don’t have the gas budget to cruise around in my car with the heat blowing into my comfort zone, ninety-two degrees. All winter, I suffered months of frigid feet, chapped hands, and the constant bite of chill at my neck and ears. I piled on more layers than a wedding cake. My sister gave me one of those wireless weather stations for Christmas, and I developed a daily ritual of checking the temperature first thing every morning, so I could preset my misery for the day. Halfway through winter, I bought an espresso maker on the desperate hope that an afternoon dose of boiling, bitter coffee might do something good for my internal thermostat.

(It didn’t.)

The daffodils showed up later than usual this year, and the redbuds bloomed against their better judgment – mere teasers that winter might let up and end soon. Then more cold came, more sub-freezing nights and gray days of chilled rain and mean wind.

So am I happy about the arrival of spring? Let me tell you: happy doesn’t express the feeling. Neither does thrilled.

Ecstatic isn’t even strong enough.

We should declare a holiday and hold a parade to welcome springtime. We could reserve the place of honor for a float with somebody dressed as a giant sun – a guy beaming in shades and a swimsuit while stretching out on a patio recliner beneath an umbrella to protect himself from his own UV rays. Every radio station in town should play twenty-four hours of nothing but “Mr. Blue Sky,” by the Electric Light Orchestra. Everyone should have the day off work to get reacquainted with the strange sensation of walking outdoors without scarves and gloves. We could all gather for a cookout, starting the fire with our winter electricity bills.

At long last, spring is here. We made it – congratulations to us all. Let’s celebrate. Soon it will be time to complain about the heat.

to view more of Mark Weber's illustration, go to www.markweberart.blogspot.com