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spring fever March 04 2013, 0 Comments


Got spring fever yet? I ask as we're waiting to see what Winter Storm Saturn will do. Seems odd to name winter storms -- as if they were hurricanes -- before they hit instead of after, as they used to do. Case in point: The Children's Blizzard of 1888 was so named because it claimed so many lives of children. I read the book by David Laskin this January. I started it 125 years to the day the storm hit.

Now that it's March, though, I'm getting a little itchy for spring to arrive. I've had spring fever before, but the worst was 13 years ago when we were living in Molde, Norway.

Here's what I wrote about it at the time (Jack Torrance much?):

"Why would we move from sunny Florida to a country that has almost six months of winter? I asked myself that question several times over the last year, especially during that time I had the involuntary tic in my neck and the propensity to talk to myself. That was 'round about March and April when I was struck with the most severe case of spring fever in recorded history. 

"It was sometime in March when the depression kicked back, settled in and decided to 'set a spell.' I didn't mark the day in my calendar, but it was sometime after that and before the last snow on April 15 that the last thread that tethered me to my sanity snapped. My body and mind couldn't deal with the hip-deep snow in the back yard that just might hang around until July, by the looks of it. Their only respite was to daydream about the well-on-its-way-to-summer Tallahassee spring that happens in March, blooming azaleas and shorts weather. 

"The long, dark, cold, wet winter had taken its toll on me. When I lamented the December darkness, I got an 'April will be here soon' reply. By the time April rolled around, I couldn't see what was so great about it. If it wasn't snowing, I had to wallow through slush. If it wasn't slush, it was ice, on which I have to do the Edward Scissorlegs walk. We had so much snow in our part of town that they quit clearing it from the walkways. That made for a mini-Mt. Everest climbing adventure (in the dark, no less) every morning on the way to the bus stop and every evening on the way home. 

"One day as I scaled the mountain, I did my best to avoid the soft spots. They're the ones that suck you in up to your butt and force you into strange contortions that would embarrass even the most limber high-school cheerleader. I muttered to myself, 'I am not a Norwegian. This is not fun. I want to go back to being a lazy American and driving my car everywhere!'" 

"To Norwegians who cheerily asked if I were surviving the winter, my reply was, 'Nok er nok!' (Enough is enough!) What I hadn't told anyone was that I was, indeed, ready to run screaming to the airport and hijack a plane to Florida."

Ah. Spring fever. It's here. But they're right. April will be here soon. And I'll be singing this ...



In the meantime, here are some things to make you think of spring:

         


Spring fever

Spring 2000

Why would we move from sunny Florida to a country that has almost six months of winter? I asked myself that question several times over the last year, especially during that time I had the involuntary tic in my neck and the propensity to talk to myself. That was 'round about March and April when I was struck with the most severe case of spring fever in recorded history. 

It was sometime in March when the depression kicked back, settled in and decided to "set a spell." I didn't mark the day in my calendar, but it was sometime after that and before the last snow on April 15 that the last thread that tethered me to my sanity snapped. My body and mind couldn't deal with the hip-deep snow in the back yard that just might hang around until July, by the looks of it. Their only respite was to daydream about the well-on-its-way-to-summer Tallahassee spring that happens in March, blooming azaleas and shorts weather. 

The long, dark, cold, wet winter had taken its toll on me. When I lamented the December darkness, I got an "April will be here soon" reply. By the time April rolled around, I couldn't see what was so great about it. If it wasn't snowing, I had to wallow through slush. If it wasn't slush, it was ice, on which I have to do what I call the Edward Scissorlegs walk. We had so much snow in our part of town that they quit clearing it from the walkways. That made for a mini-Mt. Everest climbing adventure (in the dark, no less) every morning on the way to the bus stop and every evening on the way home. 

One day as I scaled the mountain, I did my best to avoid the soft spots. They're the ones that suck you in up to your butt and force you into strange contortions that would embarrass even the most limber high-school cheerleader. I muttered to myself, "I am not a Norwegian. This is not fun. I want to go back to being a lazy American and driving my car everywhere!" 

To Norwegians who cheerily asked if I were surviving the winter, my reply was, "Nok er nok!" (Enough is enough!) What I hadn't told anyone was that I was, indeed, ready to run screaming to the airport and hijack a plane to Florida.