February ‘25
From time to time I will resurrect a piece from my 1998-2000 newspaper column, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” And this Feb ‘25 is such a time! As the title indicates, this one is apropos to Valentine’s romance.
Smooching with Spring
Spring is like that First Kiss. I remember the time my husband first kissed me. No, I’m not going to tell you about it. But there came a point when I no longer wondered – “Is he going to kiss me tonight?” The look in the eyes, the choreography of courtship…the point of no return comes and there’s no taking back that juicy pucker.
And that’s how spring is. You get to a point when you know the sun has come to stay. It’s the point of no return. I’ve lived springs at many latitudes in America: just south of the Arctic Circle at latitude 65, latitudes 56, 48, 45, 40, and even sly of the Tropic of Cancer. Okay, latitude 28 in Florida is significantly north of the Tropic of Cancer, but it was pretty far south on Alaskan standards.
One thing is true at all points. Whether you’re waiting for the river to break up in Alaska or waiting for the azaleas to bloom in South Carolina, there comes a point when you know the sun has come to stay. There’s no taking back the squint in your eye.
Which, I suppose, is why my four year old has been waking me up at 6:15 a.m. like a rooster. “Mom, it’s time to wake up. There’s light in my room.”
Last week, on a rare NW afternoon (the sun was out) my body yawned on my green lawn like a cat yawns in a sunny windowsill. I squinted through the canopy of spruce trees and I knew. Spring had come. My face and arms warmed nicely like they do at the edge of a beach fire. But my backside shivered with chills. Which is why I rotated every five minutes or so – like a hot dog in the roaster at the Wal-Mart Deli.
But I soon found myself paralyzed. Paralysis in the first and second vertebra of my To Do List. “I need to clean the windows, need to get new lawn furniture, what are we going to do for Easter this year, I want a new spring outfit, need to get back into shape…” Well, let’s be honest, I didn’t really have the impulse to clean my windows.
In my moment of paralysis I wheeled myself away from the reminders of “Do”. I picked up a taste of spring (in the NW that’s an ICED mocha coffee) and drove fifteen minutes to the beach. I dug my tennies through the rocky sand, climbed up a mass of rocks and perched myself on a throne of stone. I listened to the lapping waves and squealing children. I let the sun warm my face while my backside chilled on the granite ice.
Instead of racking my brains on what I compulsively needed to DO, the ocean crashed over my mind, reminding me to BE. Spring kissed me and nothing else seemed to matter.