It’s that time of year again when people are ready for spring and it’s not coming fast enough for them so they’re beckoning it, and I’m sitting here like, “Shhh….it will hear you.”
Because the spring will come. Oh, it will come. But it won’t stay long. It will stay for its obligatory twenty minutes at the party, and then it will take its leave, and what will replace it?
Ten thousand days of summer.
This sweet lady at church yesterday said, “It was supposed to be warm today, but it’s so chilly.”
I replied, “I think it’s supposed to get up to 54.”
She looked at me like she was thinking, “Um…yeah. That’s what I just said.”
Oh. A temperature of 54 degrees is cold to you, while to me, it’s very much what I imagine Heaven will be like.
I waver between two reactions:
1. Wanting to collect the names of everyone whom I see lamenting the cold weather on social media so that I can set them up on an email list that will bombard them daily with complaints about the OMG-HEAT when our nine months of summer begin. Because payback. You ruin my perfect weather; I ruin yours. And fight every urge within you to tell me to “cheer up” when I am overheated and nauseated and feeling hopeless because I cannot get cool and cannot keep anything down because OMG HOT.
and
2. Embracing the inevitable and welcoming spring, urging it to hang on as long as possible, because the longer I can avoid turning on my A/C, the happier my world will be.
So far, I’m doing pretty well embracing. I embraced this little gem last night:
It really does taste like the first peach of the season. The first peach soaked in beer, of course. But the first peach nonetheless.
So go ahead and come, spring. And feel free to stay awhile. And if you could also stay 65-70-ish, that would be great, too.











