An Ode to Robert Redford

One evening, in early April, when Deaglan was just four months old, Shaune and I grabbed the baby monitor, two ice cold Coronas corked with fresh lime and headed to the front porch. It was the first patio night of the year. The first swallow of alcohol I’d had since before I got pregnant.

We sipped our beers in silence. There was plenty to see on that warm spring night, the soft tinkling of lullabies from the monitor our background music.

Cars drove slowly past, their windows rolled down, and the people within smiling and friendly. Bikers and hikers moved along the sidewalks, in no hurry to reach their destinations. Even the red maple out front swayed gently in the temperate breeze, its luscious green shoots seeming to inhale the air all around; giddy with the exuberance that spring could be here to stay.

I always think of that night when I’m up to my elbows in February’s shenanigans.

It’s doing me in I’m afraid, and yesterday might have been the last straw.

In the morning a hard rain fell. It began after I’d already left the house which was nothing short of spectacular considering I needed to make multiple stops on the way. I arrived at work and caught sight of my reflection in a window: Alice Cooper with slightly better fashion sense. 

By late afternoon the rain had turned to icy slanting snow rendering my hoodless coat ornamental and my umbrella near useless. And at the car I could have wept when I realized I’d left the snow brush and scraper back home on the ledge of the porch.

I wasn’t cut out for this kind of ambivalence.

If April is the Robert Redford of weather, golden, handsome and weak-in-the-knees  dreamy like in The Way We Were, then February is Jason Alexander in Pretty Woman. Short, yes, but full of unnecessary drama and kind of mean. Definitely no George Costanza.

Which is all to say, February you suck.

I’ve raised my white flag, searched out solace.  I've taken extreme therapeutic measures: curative chocolate, remedial movie style popcorn and necessary but moderate doses of Argentinean Cabernet.  

I’ve also made regular commune with the great shamans of my mind – Fashion blogs, Netflix, and of course Anne Lamott who says in Help, Thanks, Wow, The three essential prayers  on page 27 “If I were going to begin practicing the presence of God for the first time today, it would help to begin by admitting the three most terrible truths of our existence: that we are so ruined, and so loved, and in charge of so little.”

Let me boldly add this fourth terrible truth - I really thought global warming was going to kick February in the teeth for good.

How's February treating you where you live?