Tuesday, I was sipping on this:
It was sunny all day, the warm breeze providing a hint of mid-June, and with the work week off to a shaky, broken-heel kind of start, I needed a refreshing, cold, slightly sour alcoholic beverage. This was not a beer or wine kind of evening, this was a give-me-brain-freeze-and-pretend-I’m-on-vacation-in-Mexico end to the day.
It sure didn’t last long. After all, this is Kansas where the weather is bipolar at best, but this year proving to be slightly schizophrenic or senile, I’m just not sure. When the morning temperature on May 1st is 65 degrees, rises to 80 around noon then plummets to 48 shortly after the lunch hour, well, what would you call it? Welcome to Kansas weather, otherwise known as Sybil.
Old Man Winter is definitely confused. He should be on his way to the Southern Hemisphere, his little bag of whites and a small cooler of ice in tow. Maybe he’s enjoyed himself a little too much, dumping piles of the white stuff in the Midwest, giving Colorado one of its best late ski seasons, ever. Or maybe watching us plopping our adult bodies into snowdrifts along with the neighborhood children during those February snow days gave him such a kick he didn’t want it to end. Most people spend December through February cursing the Old Guy, uttering his name in vain, desiring only Spring and ignoring the beauty of frost covered fields and trees glistening, encased in ice. But for a few days, we loved him. We dusted off those snow boots we purchased on clearance about four years ago, built snowmen, drank mug after mug of hot cocoa, overworked the stovetops with simmering pots of chicken noodles, vegetable soup or beef stew, and propped our feet up by the fire. Gotta love that Old Man.
So, who can blame him for wearing out his winter welcome? Why would he want to pack his bags and head to Australia when such winter love abounded, even for just a few short days.
Well, even I, the self-proclaimed Snow Queen (I know, it’s not cool to give yourself a nickname, but I swear someone, somewhere made reference to my being the royalty of snow) have grown a little weary.
This was me the second snow day in February:
Old Man Winter, you know how I love ya’. You are my favorite season, I long for you soon after the last sparkler and roman candle is tossed into the waiting bucket of water on the Fourth, and stand on the deck, face upward and eyes closed when you sprinkle the Midwest with its first snowflakes of the season.
But, it’s May. May. And after the thunder, lightning, rain, sleet, snow and sunshine on this multiple weather personality disorder of a day, I’m ready for spring.
Please, Old Man, go with dignity. I’d rather remember you as you were those wonderful February days. I’ll see you, soon. Tell my family near Canberra I said hello.