For as far back as I can remember I’ve always quite thoroughly enjoyed only warm weather. There’s most certainly something quite exceptionally enchanting about the early days of autumn too though, with all the colorful changes in temperature and the colors of the leaves. Even autumn, though, especially Thanksgiving in North Tonawanda, New York, can be pure torture if it’s cold. Unfortunately I honestly believe that I have quite an extremely nasty time coping with cold weather, especially when there’s precipitation along with it. Throughout my lifetime I’ve always lived in either Queens, Long Island or northeastern Pennsylvania. In each of these places winter is quite notorious for being nightmarishly long and bitter cold with a significant amount of rain, ice and snow. Especially when all that endless weather trouble is combined with an early sunset, it drives me inevitably to extreme frustration. Because of my always having been such a bookworm, and a literature major, I tend spontaneously to see things in terms of symbolism. All that cold, dampness and darkness invariably remind me of unbearable desperation and desolation. It’s the perfect symbol of pain, unhappiness and evil in general. The dreary appearance and mood, combined with horrible road and traffic conditions, and the lack of foliage on deciduous plants, always get me frustrated and resentful. As I’ve quite frequently said before, by the time March gets here, I simply can’t even try to wait any longer for nice weather. I’ve often referred to my nasty reaction to March’s tendency to hold back on the warmth and other nice weather conditions that are supposed to accompany the arrival of spring. That’s a lot like what life in general is like. Evil and pain never like to let go. Bad habits have a nasty tendency to remain. In the vocabulary of philosophy, the concept of time is divided into time and duration. Objective time is always the same but the way people react to it in a subjective sense, its duration, is what varies. March always takes the same relatively short length of time each year, the same as many other months, but its association with spring’s nice warm weather
, combined with its tendency to keep on torturing and tormenting us with bitter cold and precipitation, always drags me down. It appears absolutely never to end. Besides all the increased risk to people’s physical health and safety it’s an unbearable strain on the emotions and nerves too.
It’s March 1 and that always gets me so frustrated each year. March has always left me with mixed emotions because of its in-like-a-lion-out-like-a-lamb reputation and its annoying tendency to begrudge us the nice weather we all so eagerly anticipate. It’s like being in the vestibule of a most enchanting environment, after having been subjected to a long arduous nightmare and finding out that the price of admission is a lot of last-minute repetition of the same nightmare. T.S. Eliot opens his “The Waste Land” with the claim that “April is the cruelest month”. Please don’t let this esteemed Missouri bard fool you though. March is enough to make anyone cringe with a thwarted restless anticipation of the most desperately needed springtime. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been such a compulsive bookworm, and I majored in literature in college, but I’ve always seen March as a metaphor for the nasty frustration that goes with life’s changes. Never a fan of that o-so-demonic concept known as change, I just can’t wait to get the hard parts over with. I should suppose that I shall simply have to accept the fact that March is a harbinger of all the good that’s yet to come and that for that very reason it should be most welcome. It brings with it all sorts of good things ranging from Lent and Easter to St. Patrick’s Day and springtime. That, however, most certainly doesn’t make it any less annoying or frustrating.