Sometimes I’m not sure I want winter to end. A part of me appreciates the cold, dreary season because it is, in its way, very forgiving of moodiness. Spending a winter weekend at home, making soup, and devouring the Sunday paper inspires not the least bit of regret that I am not doing something better with my time.

These first springy days bring with them a kind of pressure to take advantage of what the weather has to offer. I force myself to say: "Wake up everyone, it’s time to get out there and have some FUN," when really all I want to do is lie underneath my comforter until hunger and the need for coffee forces me to the kitchen.

Much has been said about winter depression. But what about the blues brought forth by the expectations that spring arouses. What if the reality and the expectation don’t exactly match up? I, for one, am not quite ready for perky tulips at the Korean market, the park full of fair-weather runners, or Easter, for that matter. Truth is, I’m just not ready for spring.

A great, great jazz tune sung by Betty Carter comes to mind. The lyrics by Fran Landesman really say it so well:

"Spring this year has got me feeling. Like a horse that never left the post. I cry in my room, staring up at the ceiling. Spring can really hang you up the most."

I think this is just a temporary thing. Transitions are often hard. You get kind of attached to the seasons, even the nasty ones, and it’s hard to move on. I’ll get past this. I know I will. But please, just a few days more of winter, so I can get this  malaise out of my system.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB