Spring dreams in the winter of my discontent

Sunday, April 4, 2004 | 12:00 a.m. CST; updated 3:38 a.m. CDT, Monday, July 21, 2008

I’ve had it with winter! If I have to wear one more black outfit, I think I’ll scream. All of my sweaters are pilled, and I hate wearing a coat, especially one that weighs as much as I do. And I’m tired of wearing socks and cloddy shoes.

I’ve read every book on the best-seller list, and some I wish I hadn’t bothered with. I’ve cleaned closets and rearranged my kitchen; now I want to get out of this house.

I’m tired of dry skin and post-nasal drip. My diet isn’t working: I think my body wants to keep that extra layer of adipose tissue to protect itself from the cold.

A fire in the fireplace is no longer magical to watch. I want to turn off the furnace and open the house to rid it of staleness. I want to open a heating bill and no longer see three digits.

I don’t want to make chili again for at least nine months. And I want to buy a tomato that doesn’t taste like cardboard.

Winter officially ended two weeks ago but Mother Nature continues to play with my emotions. The temperature falls below freezing at night, and when it’s not dreary and overcast, it’s raining. She has teased me with an occasional sun-kissed day with highs in the 70s. The next day it pours and the temperature plummets.

March Madness is almost over (for me it was over before it started). Why do they call it March Madness when the final four games are played in April?

Spring break has passed. I stayed here waiting for spring to break, but it didn’t.

The people who predict the weather are getting on my nerves. In chirpy little voices, they tell me that this weather is going to continue through the weekend. They don’t even look despondent. Don’t they know that I’m at the end of my winter rope? I feel like I’m just waiting for the real spring to begin.

I started to change my wardrobe from winter to summer and as usual, found myself searching in the attic for something warm to wear. One day I said to myself, “winter be damned.” I put on my basic summer footwear of flip-flops and froze my toes when I went to the grocery store over the weekend.

Trees and bushes are flowering all over town, but they’re just taunting me. I want desperately to get outside and work in the yard, but I refuse to rake and mulch wearing woolen gloves and a stocking cap.

My days are pretty much the same — boring. I keep a daily journal, and lately I have been writing things like, “Absolutely nothing happened today,” and “See yesterday’s entry.”

One of my favorite pastimes is shopping but even that has become a waiting game. All the stores are filled with new spring and summer clothes, but what’s the use of buying something I can’t wear for another month? Who knows? A miracle might occur and I might lose a few pounds; then the clothes would be too big. (Now I know this weather is getting me down because I’m hallucinating.)

I long to do spring-time things like walking around the block without stepping in a puddle. I want to drive my car with the windows down so everyone can hear that I’m listening to Rush Limbaugh. I want to plant a garden and hope that this year it will bear vegetables. I’m even looking forward to pulling weeds.

I want to have a garage sale and rid my house of clutter. I want to uncover the pool, sit on my deck and look at the soothing water. I want to watch as birds build nests in the eves of our house and then carry worms to their chicks.

I want my tulips that haven’t been snatched by squirrels to bloom. And I want to pay someone to plant more flowers — ones that will grow.

I also want to win the lottery and fit into a size 6, but that should go on another want list.

I will continue to pine for spring and soon it will be here, and then before long, summer will erupt. I’ll soon tire of the sun and temperatures soaring into the 90s. I’ll long for rain.

By summer’s end, I’ll want to pitch my white clothes that have become dingy. I’ll be counting the days until my grandchildren return to school and I’ll only see them occasionally, not every day.

You’d think at my age I’d learn to enjoy every day, not yearn for tomorrow. I’m not getting wiser, I’m just getting older.

If you have a comment or have a pill to snap me out of my pining, please e-mail me at

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