You're not fooling me into false hope, April

 

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

T.S. Eliot, "The Wasteland"

We have entered the month of April, which you know.

What you may not know is that April's only purpose in this world (at least for those of us living in decidedly temperate climates) is to trick us into thinking spring has arrived.

Sure, technically, spring has arrived on the calendar, but no self-respecting Northeast Ohioan really believes that.

I'm writing this post on February 24. I have no idea what the weather will be like on April 2, and it almost doesn't matter. Even if it's sunny and warm, it won't last. It will be 70 degrees one day and 35 the next.

That is far worse than a week of mid-January temperatures in the mid-teens. At least in January you know what you're getting and don't expect anything better.

But in April? The crocuses and other signs of emerging life make you think everything is going to be OK very soon. And it is going to be OK.

Just not now. Not this month.

You have to wait for May for "OK." In the meantime, winter's long death rattles continue for the next few weeks. You think you see the finish line, and suddenly it moves 100 yards farther away.

You have hope, then April blithely crushes the part of you that believes summer is right around the corner.

We're not finished yet. Not by a long shot.

It was the character Red from "The Shawshank Redemption" who said it best: "Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane."

Indeed it can, Red, indeed it can.

The shock of nice weather in the middle of a Great Lakes winter

Terry and I have made a habit of traveling to Florida in February and March to visit our son Jared and his girlfriend Lyndsey. We just did it last week (Terry is still down there, as a matter of fact).

This is usually a pretty good time to get out of Northeast Ohio with its wind, snow and ice and spend some time in St. Petersburg with its sunshine, blue skies and...more sunshine. And this trip was no different, as temperatures reached about 80 degrees every day I was there.

When we arrived at the Tampa/St. Pete airport on Thursday and went outside to wait for Jared to pick us up, I immediately felt like I always feel when I fly to a warm place in the middle of winter: Pale, haggard, bloated, and more than a little disconcerted.

It always takes me a day or so to adjust to wearing shorts and a t-shirt outdoors.

On Saturday, Terry and I took a short morning walk with Jared around a nearby lake. (Also on the walk was Jared and Lyndsey's cat Salem, whom Jared carried in a little kitty container hung around his neck.) The conditions were perfect, with low humidity and temperatures right around 70 degrees.

It was so nice that I started wondering – as I have before – what it would be like to live in a place like Florida. A place where it rarely snows. A place where the sun doesn't disappear for weeks at a time. A place where outdoor activities are in play year-round.

From time to time, Terry and I have mused over the idea of someday moving south, or at least spending significant time there. It wouldn't happen for another decade, if at all, but the thought never quite leaves our minds.

Then I begin to consider the drawbacks. And there are several.

For one thing, it may hardly ever snow down there, but hurricanes and tropical storms are a thing. While Tampa/St. Pete doesn't get hit as often as other areas of Florida do, Hurricane Milton did force Jared and Lyndsey to evacuate south to Miami last fall.

Then there's the day-to-day weather. Not the winter weather, the summer weather. It gets hot in June, July, August and September. Really hot. Hot and humid. To the point that you don't really want to be outside.

There's also the simple fact that it isn't home. Having lived in one city and one city only, I have deep roots in my hometown. I know where things are located. I know lots of people. I understand how things work around here.

Would it be worth turning our whole world upside down in exchange for more pleasant winter and spring days? I don't know. I really don't.

Right now, it all depends on when you ask me. At the moment, having just spent time outside with Jack shoveling heavy, icy snow off our driveway, I'm feeling very pro-Florida. In a couple of months when it starts to warm up around here? Maybe not.

To be continued...

In the bleak Ohio midwinter

It has been mentioned here (more than once) that my wife and I have lived in one city our whole lives.

We've traveled to many places, but we've never really wanted to live anywhere else.

Still, no place is perfect, and Northeast Ohio has its flaws. Like the weather, for instance.

More to the point, the weather in November through March (and some years October through April).

We live a few miles away from Lake Erie and are often recipients of the dreaded "lake-effect snow." Our town is right on the edge of the Snow Belt, meaning that if Downtown Cleveland gets 2 inches of snow, we are likely to get 6 or more.

And even when the snow isn't piling up, it's still unfailingly gray, dreary and cold this time of year.

Indeed, January is not Wickliffe, Ohio's best moment, and we're entering the heart of it. These coming few weeks are historically some of the worst our area has to offer, weather-wise.

So we collectively grit our teeth and get through it.

The reward is a beautiful late spring and summer that, to me anyway, is unlike anything you'll experience elsewhere. It's more than enough of a payoff for the unchanging bleakness of the winter months.

But we have a long way to go before that comes, so onward we push.

Not that it's all misery around here in January, February and March, mind you. Our basketball team is pretty good right now, as is our minor league hockey team.

And if you're into skiing or other outdoor winter sports, you could do worse than Northeast Ohio.

I just...well, the older I get, the less patience I have with Old Man Winter.

He needs to get his butt in gear and shuffle on out of here so that this "sunshine" we hear about from our friends to the south is once again less myth and more reality.

That smell when you first turn on the heat in your house

We've reached the point on the calendar (at least here in Northeast Ohio) when our long-dormant furnaces have come to life in order to keep our homes feeling somewhere between "livable" and "inferno," depending on your personal temperature preference.

It should be noted, though, that as I type these words in early October, this has not yet happened. However, I imagine that by now your furnace has awakened and, as you read this, is now working around the clock to keep you comfortable.

Which means that, at some point recently, you likely experienced the "Smell When You First Turn on the Furnace."

My fellow Clevelanders and those living in similar climates know what I mean. When you haven't used your furnace in months then switch it back on, there's often a certain smell that permeates the house while everything heats up for the first time.

Scientifically, at least from what I've read, this smell is nothing more than several months' worth of dust and dirt accumulation in the furnace and ductwork burning off.

Emotionally, though, it has a very specific meaning.

It means that summer – even of the Indian variety – is officially dead and buried.

It means Thanksgiving is right around the corner, to be followed startlingly soon after by Christmas and New Year's Day.

It means the long, cold, gray slog toward spring has commenced, and there's no turning back now.

That smell is the passage of time.

It is, like all distinctive smells, associated with a very specific situation. It is the smell of mid-November, and it carries more weight and meaning than you may have realized.

Or it's just the dead mouse that got into your furnace in July finally being cremated.

Either way, it's going to be a while before you can take a dip in your backyard pool.

Buckle up and enjoy the ride.

You can really take the convenience of summer for granted

It's only around this time of year, with the beginning of autumn just a couple of weeks away, that I realize the best thing about summer is the convenience.

Like, for example, when you want to go somewhere, you just throw on shoes and leave. No jacket, no boots, no hat and gloves. You just go.

And when you're driving around Northeast Ohio like I do, you don't have to add any extra travel time for weather delays. If it's normally a 15-minute trip, it will be a 15-minute trip.

That's not to mention the fact that I never have to worry about small cuts caused by excessively dry skin on my fingertips in June. That's a January thing, as are chapped lips. I keep a steady supply of lotion and Chapstick close at hand during those winter months.

Even on the hottest and most humid days, summer is generally just easier for those of us living in temperate regions.

I suspect this will soon be brought home to me during my five-mornings-a-week trips to the gym.

I started working out in early June. To date, that has meant leaving the house in just my workout clothes and gym shoes. Nothing else.

In a few months, that same excursion will also involve:

• Bundling up in appropriate outerwear
• Driving on potentially slippery roads to the gym
• Walking into the gym and taking off my coat, hat and gloves
• Also taking off my boots or other winter-proof shoes
• Replacing those with gym shoes
• Putting everything back on as my sweaty self leaves post-workout, likely soaking the inside of my coat and gloves.
• Driving back home on those same slippery roads

All of which suggests a move to warmer climes sometime in the future to avoid all of the winter hassle.

But I can't imagine that ever happening. After all, where's the fun in that?

The real slog of winter begins now, but it's still going to be a great year

We here in Northeast Ohio get snow in December, and sometimes it's a lot of snow. But I never feel like "real" winter has begun until New Year's Day.

This is the point when the holidays wind down and the long, cold, gray reality of a Cleveland winter sets in. Living on the shores of Lake Erie, we will see precious little sunshine for the next few months. And in the meantime we're likely to get at least a couple of blizzards, a lot of ice, and generally sub-freezing temperatures.

Which by the way is fine. I love living here, and that kind of weather is just part of the deal. I'm not complaining at all.

In fact, I'm feeling good today. It's the start of a new year, and like every year before it, I choose to see it as a time of opportunity and possibility. I am in most ways an incurable optimist.

This is not a case of me being a Pollyanna, or at least I hope it isn't. It's simply making the deliberate choice to be excited for whatever lies ahead over the next 52 weeks.

If you think this year is going to be a good one for you, you're probably right.

And if you think 2021 is going to be a bad one for you, you're also probably right.

It's not a platitude, it's a fact: You, like most folks, are going to be about as happy as you make up your mind to be.

But you know what would make me especially happy? If you made up your mind to grab a shovel and help clear out my driveway the next time Mother Nature dumps a bunch of the fluffy white stuff on it.

I choose to believe snow is beautiful. I also choose to believe it's even more beautiful when it doesn't get in the way of me backing my car out of the garage.

We're halfway through February, my fellow Northerners. Hang in there!

These are the dark times for those of us who live in cold climates. We are almost uniformly sick of winter, yet it still has several more weeks to go.

But there is light. There is hope. There is something to hang onto.

After today, we are firmly into the second half of February.

Yes! It's a leap year, of course, which means February has one extra excruciating day tacked onto it. But March is in sight. Which means spring is in sight.

Sort of.

I live in Northeast Ohio, where March does not always necessarily equal spring. Some of the worst snowstorms I remember have happened in March.

Regardless, if March is in sight, that means April is also on the horizon. And even in the worst of years, April is when you start to see the temperatures (slowly) rise and the snow fade away.

So this is my rallying cry to all those who are enduring the cold grayness of February: Stay strong. Be positive. There will be an end to this.

And then? This...

No, not bird attacks. Summer! I'm talking about summer! Geez...