It was a lousy winter around these parts. There was snow and ice on the ground before Christmas, and it stayed there until President's Day. The sky was a steel gray for days on end, and for awhile there in the depths of January and February, the thermometer struggled to make it into double digits.
Not good for dog-walking to be sure. Okay for gathering 'round the fire and soup or chili suppers for awhile, but by the end of February we were scraping ice off the grill and cooking pork chops in defiance of everything Mother Nature was sending our way. Which even included 10 inches of snow on the first day of Spring.
Definitely a downer for the sociability quotient of the local citizenry. My mood ranged from glum to surly and was matched or exceeded in intensity by many.
Which is why this 70-degree weekend has literally been such a breath of fresh, balmy air. Otis and I took a morning walk, blissfully free of snow boots outfitted with the Yak-Traks that kept me upright through three months of ice-walking. As the sun came up over the trees that show promise of leaves to come, and magnolias, forsythia and redbuds in full bloom, it struck me that my appreciation of this glorious day is all the more intense for the dark gloom that preceded it.
Is my enjoyment of this single weekend worth the weeks on end of unrelenting winter?
Why, yes, I do believe so.
Which is something I should keep in mind more generally. Nothing's perfect all the time, and if it was, I'd take it for granted and fail to appreciate it anyway. So, if I quit-the-bitchin' about the lows, and accept them as the yin that will make the yang all the more gratifying when the highs eventually come, I'll be a whole lot happier.