. Typically, everyone says that February is the worst month during winter, but I disagree. For me, March is always an absolute nightmare.
Winter, with all its bleak reality, is the ultimate symbol of evil. March, because spring is so close, just over the next horizon , is unbearably frustrating. Cold weather, similarly to evil, puts up quite a fight before it leaves. It’s something merely to be endured and gotten over with, in my opinion.
Because I’m in the habit of regularly reading Rochelle’s blog, I couldn’t help noticing Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. This time I decided I wanted to try to write an entry for it.
When I was still only a youngster, still obligated to go to school, I’d always so thoroughly enjoyed it. Although, of course, it meant having to put a stop to all the uninterrupted enjoyment of summer, going back to school in September was always quite an interesting experience. The only time I truly let it bother me a little was at the beginning of the seventh grade, when, having moved from Jackson Heights to Lindenhurst, I was forced to spend two weeks in Copiague Junior High School, after which I went to O.L.P.H. in Lindenhurst for the rest of my time in grammar school. That was only because they were both new to me. Now that I’m an adult man, my feelings toward the end of the summer each year ultimately amount to mere passive resignation. Imo’ve always been quite smitten with symbolism and autumn and winter always abound with it. The last few months of each year always bring with them cold weather and dark gloomy skies. For a while autumn is quite nice. I’ve always quite enjoyed Labor Day, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was especially nice when I was in the habit of visiting my cousins in North Tonawanda. Eventually, though, the last few months of the year turn into a seemingly endless succession of mandatory concessions to all sorts of inevitable trouble. My mother died last September and my father died last November so from now on those times will also have quite a particularly sad twist to them.
If ever I could count on the unquestioning service of a perfectly obedient robot that could be available at all times to relieve me of only one nightmarishly awful chore, I should very much like to have one that would shovel snow for me. When it comes to difficulty all other chores very much seem to pale by comparison. This is made especially true by the fact that it’s always outside in miserable weather. Bad weather in general has always bothered me. Snow and ice get me crazy. I’ve never been known for an abundance of physical strength and shoveling is one of the things that require quite an exceptional degree of endurance. By definition a robot doesn’t have to deal with frustration and exhaustion. All it needs is either a plug, battery or some other power source. Unlike me it will never complain about hypothermia or boredom. I should only need it for part of the year anyway, although winter, when it gets here, seems so unbearably long.
Although I haven’t traveled very far, and haven’t even seen any foreign country except Canada, I can think of quite a lot of interesting things I’ve seen in different places. Having been to places ranging from Florida and Illinois to Washington D.C. and Michigan, I’ve tasted a wide variety of good food, seen many landmarks and a lot of fine scenery so it may be quite impossible to choose any one thing that I should want to clone in order to have it permanently with me.
If I were ever really forced, though, to pick one thing, I should like to have Jitty Joe’s, the famous ice cream parlor on Birney Avenue in Moosic, in Lackawanna County, Pennsylvania. They have, without question, absolutely the very best ice cream I know of. Everyone who goes there is quite crazy about it. Having spent a significant amount of time in northeastern Pennsylvania, I’ve often gone there to check out their wide variety of flavors. They sell cones, sundaes, sodas, shakes and any other kind of things that can possibly be made with either ice or ice cream.
Unfortunately since there’s not so much demand for ice cream during the cold months they’re only opened for a fairly short time each year. During that period, though, it’s most certainly quite a fantasy land. If I could have it here with me, within walking distance, I could go there much more frequently during the warm months. Within only a very short time frame, I could have an opportunity to try each of their seemingly infinite variety of flavors of ice cream, sodas, and toppings, ranging from bubble gum and teaberry to rocky road, peanut butter, and chocolate chip. I’ve always had quite an insatiable sweet tooth so if I were close to someplace like this I could count on being able to have quite a regular feast. There are a lot of benches outside to enjoy the warm weather and scenery. It’s such an exceptionally interesting environment.
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.
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