First Days

Today marks the first day of an elusive spring, and after it rained buckets in Ohio for two straight days, and then we had sleet last evening, and then the ground was covered by a thin blanket of snow last night, we finally see the sun.

That warm, insistently yellow light, and the daffodils and tulips that continue to sprout tenaciously from the soaked earth, are the only signs that spring is supposed to be coming. And not a minute too soon, if you ask me.

(I think March has been so disappointing this year because it's the first time I haven't gone home to Puerto Rico for Spring Break in a few years. I realize now that spending a week in March with my parents was a great way to miss some of the worst of the month. But this year I decided to stay here to finish the dissertation and now I realize how much that trip home does for my weather-related mental health.)

I find that I can face almost anything if there's sun. But those eternally gray, cold Ohio days are tough on the soul, especially on one raised in the tropics. I keep telling my husband that if spring doesn't come soon and we continue to have more bone-chilling, miserable days, I'm going to start screaming and I won't be able to stop and he'll have to put me away for good. I'm sure it won't come to that, of course, but every sunny day helps.

While our gorgeous house is always too cold for me in winter, the little apartment in the woods, by virtue of being so tiny (compared to our four-story house), is always warm and cozy. Thus, at least for the part of the week I'm up here, I don't have to be cold outside and inside.

To celebrate that the sun decided to grace us with its presence, and that while it's 35 degrees outside there is no wind so it actually feels warmer, the dogs and I did a little over 2 miles, walking a new route that I scouted out recently while driving around the village with a former student. I thought the route would end up being almost 3 miles, but then (good Puerto Rican that I am) I always overestimate distances in such a tiny place.

The long walk this morning compensated for a very disappointing walk of less than half a mile last evening when, thankful that the Macondo-like rains had stopped, I leashed the dogs and went out only to find that a fine rain of sleet was covering everything with ice. Soon, the dogs and I were wondering what possessed us to leave the apartment, and my fingers were starting to feel frostbit (I had quite overconfidently walked out without gloves since it had been in the high 40s earlier in the day). It was so bad that the dogs, especially Geni, weren't the least upset that we had to turn back almost as soon as we'd left.

I'm seriously thinking of taking the bicycle out for its first ride of the year today, since temperatures are expected to rise to almost 40 (which isn't spring-like at all, but it's better than the teens or the 30s). I love it that each year presents us with so many firsts: the first day of spring, the first day of riding a bike, the first day of gardening, the first day of sitting outside with a book.

I guess that's the point, right? That if we see them as firsts, even if they reoccur each year, we can invest them with a special meaning each and every time they come around. Focusing on the fun firsts of each day is not a half-bad way to prevent myself from succumbing to the endless-winter blues.