Midwesonal

The boots sitting just within my closet must be stowed, the down jacket must be folded away and boxed up, and the the box of hat and gloves must be stored under the bed. Yesterday was the first day of spring. Not March 21, the vernal equinox when the world was cold and miserable, but yesterday when the sun was out and the thermostat said 80 (or 26 for you metric scalers). It was "a scorcher" and, like the pale-skinned Irish descendant I am, I managed a light pink sunburn. The whole city seemed more alive than it has been in months, as if like plants we were all just waiting for a little sunlight before we peeked our heads out from under piles of pea coats and began to photosynthesize.

What is it about the spring and summer that enlivens us so? One would never have guessed we were still deep in a recession yesterday. The outdoor patios were packed and even house pets were making their way to the restaurants for some conversation and appetizers. Why are we more inclined to head out when the weather is nice? Just because we can sit outside and drink to a din of revving engines, sirens, and tires hitting potholes? There is of course the simple explanation that the weather is, after all, nicer out but we're Midwesterners: blizzards can't keep us in. So why will first breezy day of summer draw us all out, to find a little spare change in our meager budgets and lavish our money on a table at the cafe?

I, like so many others, spent the weekend sitting out at the bars on Division, drinking beers and letting the sunlight defrost my frozen self. The sun seeped past my pale complexion and seemingly all the way into the part of my soul that has spent the last 4 months repeating: 2011 blows . Case in point, yesterday I had to wait 40 minutes outside for a bus, and I didn't even mind (rare occurrence!). I sat on a bench, reading, oblivious to everything except my own extreme contentment.

Life feels better today. Today we went grocery shopping and I was full of optimism. "I want to go to that cafe some time. Oh, and we should get sushi before you head to work sometime soon. We need to check out that French restaurant I was telling you about. Life is good. I can't wait for summer." These were unusual words from someone who spent the last three months informing people, "I'm not going out tonight. I'm tired," and dreading the summer months, when my pocketbook gets thin and consequently so do I.

I should move to California; perhaps my life would change and I would spend all my days sitting on the back porch reading, sipping lattes, and being perfectly content.

After all, I hate winter. I am incapable of heating my own body and spend the entire winter, from January-March, locked away under various blankets trying to convince either the cat or the boyfriend to come snuggle. I don't like going out even to a party in the cold, and this year I refused to clean my car for 6 months simply because I didn't want to spend that much time outside. I spent a weekend in Arizona this February, and though I didn't find Phoenix very much to my tastes, I also didn't want to leave. I had to return to a blizzard, and more shoveling myself out of parking spaces while lamenting the loss of each feather from my down jacket as one tiny iota less of heat. 

Now, summer is coming and everything is perfect. 

Yet, there is something about growing up in the Midwest that makes me indifferent to the seasons, in spite of my complete abhorrence of them. I would never dream of moving somewhere to stay warm. (For Heaven's sake I even went backpacking through Germany in November once- not exactly the Bahamas is it?) Top on the list of places I would like to move are Boston, New York, or Minneapolis. None of these cities have mild or temperate climates. I can in the same sentence I am complaining about the cold rave about wishing to move to Boston. What has life in the midwest done to warp my mind so I can't make this simple connection?

My thought patterns: Boston is North - North is cold - Cold is miserable- THEREFORE Boston will be a great place to live.

Is it because I am young and poor and too used to denying myself any pleasure? Is it because I dread the heat of an Arizona or Texas summer nearly as much as the cold of Chicago?

I do not believe there is any reason for my self-denial other than years of  enduring. I have lived with seasons all my life. And the truth is, I actually love the first snow, the wintery snuggliness, the cookies, the hot chocolate, the christmas decorations covered in a light dusting....if we could remove January, February, and March from the calendar perhaps life would be perfect. But then, where would be the joy in the first day of spring, and laying aside the boots and gloves? Perhaps the beauty is in the contrast, and the novelty of sun after so many months of cloud cover.