On Spring

Spring is trying its best to arrive in Northeast Ohio. The Cleveland Indians baseball team is having its home opener tomorrow, and the forecast is 53 with a 100% chance of rain. (I can remember sending my son off to a home opener one year wearing a parka and snowpants. He had to clear several inches of snow off the bleachers and froze before the 5th inning. I suppose getting a little wet is preferable to frostbite.) I am frantic for 70s and sun. I want to put away, once and for all, my winter coat and sweaters. I want to stop carrying my personal space heater when traveling from room to room at the high school. I want my hands to stop looking like a corpse's, all white with purply fingertips from the cold, even indoors.

The house on the corner has some crocuses, but they don't count. I've seen them poking through snow before, stubbornly heralding a premature Spring. The chubby robins in my yard jockeying for position with the squirrels aren't encouraging, either. Around this area, a few hardy ones winter over and can be seen huddled under the eaves in February. Nope--I want lilacs and thunderstorms. I want a rainbow. I want to hear the music from the popsicle truck. I want to see the cilantro start feathering up in my herb garden. I want to smell that wetly green aroma first thing in the morning when I sneak out in my short jammies to get the Sunday paper off the front walk. I want to start complaining about all the tree buds being tracked into the house and all over the carpets. I want all the storm windows open in the house and the cats sitting with their noses up against the screens.

I want to wear my light blue pointy shoes. I want to break out my pink leather Etienne Aigner bag. I want to wear short sleeves again. I want to wear a dress or skirt with no pantyhose. (Hell, I want to be able to wear a dress or skirt and not get goosebumps!) I want to wear light, flirty clothes and a lighter, flirtier mood.

Spring arrives too late and leaves too soon here in NE Ohio. We pine for it; we yearn for it; we wish for it as avidly as a lover does her beloved. When it arrives, we almost weep. We wallow in it for the briefest of moments that it lasts.

Spring in NE Ohio is unpredictable and mercurial. It is like your friend who dyes her hair a different color every month and goes to a tarot reader. She disappears, perhaps, for weeks or months at a time, but you don't really hold her accountable; that's just the way she is. When she does show up, you just pick right up where you left off. No questions asked, no baggage or recriminations. It's just her way. And you have the best times with her. You do wild, adventurous things with her that you wouldn't do with anyone else. And you don't care, either. You don't get to spend a lot of time with her, but the time you do spend is golden. That's Spring.