Hey, Winter Wonderland . . .

. . . Wonder how long it's going to take me to END YOU???

Now that my introduction is over, I get to move onto the fun stuff. Well, it's fun for me. A lot of fun. Most people reading this know me and will not be surprised but will merely shake their heads and smile softly to themselves. I wouldn't put it past a few to murmur a sympathetic and almost pitying, "Oh, Rosemary." Those few of you who do not know me and are exposing your minds to my influence (oh, ye naive ones) are welcome to comment on just how ridiculous I am.

Anyway, I was taken yesterday by a flight of fancy. Do not be alarmed! This happens often and, thankfully, this time my feet did not actually leave the ground. Watching the tulips and apple blossoms fill up with snow from the freak April blizzard, I wished violently for summer. I have long been a defender and comrade of winter, but 8 months of snow is a little much for even my cold-loving spirit. And so I began musing on the fun that summer would bring. (I startled myself at the fondness in my thoughts!)

Oh, Summer! Bring forth thy blue skies that never see a cloud! Shine down the harsh sunlight to blind mine eyes! Show mine eyes the brown grasses now turned to straw! Share thy bounty of insects and their bites of doom! Descend like an unwanted relative and ravage the happiness in my life!

. . . yeah . . .

. . . . . . . I'm so sick of winter, I am actually wishing for hell on earth. Summer sucks, but if I have to wade through one more effing snow storm, I'm going to throw lighter fluid on every pile of powdery white I can find and time long it takes for pile after pile to learn its lesson.

I'm at the stage where I'm shaking my fist at the poor mouthpiece who drew the short straw and has to report the weather. The adult in me knows that they only report what satellites show them, so it really isn't their personal responsibility to give me my spring, but the 7-year-old that will not be silenced is determined that if I had followed my original childhood dream and become a meteorologist, winter would have returned to the friendly and frozen north a long time ago and spring would be rolling over and dying under summer's stare.

Where can I live that will give me spring and autumn? We'll skip the temperamental seasons. They can sit in their room until they feel like behaving!

Snow everywhere! Like a plague of human disinterest, reflecting back on passersby our own captivating tedium. Seasons infect our hearts and minds, inactively reminding us of everything we want to change but cannot affect. We put boots and scarves over the truth and let the snow insulate us from the soggy, dead grass underneath.

Yes, I debated putting the above paragraph in quotes so I wouldn't sound so romantically lyrical and so I could pretend like I was quoting someone. But I want to stab the eyes out of people who quote themselves. I'm talking to you, Mark Twain!

But seriously. Snow bonfire after the next storm. I'll bring the lighter fluid. You bring the Starburst for toasting.

And Santa's getting hate mail because Frosty doesn't have a P.O. box!


Rosemary