Spring is a sketchy business where I come from. It comes and goes with the day, one day warm, one day cool again, like a boat trying to right itself in choppy water. Then you can wake up on some random Tuesday and not even see that the boat is under full sail, gliding out across a calm sea. By the time you notice, you’re there, you’ve reached summer, and that fluffy, light as air “just spring” is gone.
So, how is it, with as many springs as I’ve seen in my life, I still find it hard to stay warm? I am never as cold as I am in the spring. It’s in the low 50s, but I am convinced that winter is over so I wear something fresh and I find myself, waiting for the bus, digging my hands into my pockets and burying my face in my collar to stay warm. I wrap up in blankets on my couch because I can’t bring myself to close the windows. And I am still making hot chocolate and feeling sorry for myself that I cannot shake the chill.
If it’s in the low 50s in October, I know to put on something warm, so I pull out the fleecy things and it’s part of the “look.” I think of football games instead of baseball games and everyone in the stands wears hoods and mittens. If it’s in the low 50s in January, it’s a heat wave and the gloves come off just long enough to make me think of the warm days to come. So why is it, when it’s in the low 50s in April, I never seem to get the wardrobe right, year after year? And why is it the same temperature feels so different at different times of the year? Is it me, or is it some dastardly meteorological plot?
It’s sunny today in New York, and it’s supposed to be in the low 50s. I have my winter jacket and a toasty sweater so I can go out and enjoy spring. I might even join bettyandisbel when they come dancing. It is just spring, after all, and it doesn’t last, whether you freeze your way through it or not. But it's a frothy dessert best served outdoors.