February 8, 2023
I’m sure we’re all very
grateful that the polar vortex that vexed us all over the last couple of weeks
is finally a thing of the past. There comes a point that, when the temperature
drops low enough, the cold begins to seep in, regardless of your efforts to
keep it out.
That’s how it would be if a
new ice age ever came. The temperatures would finally drop so low, that
everything would simply stop working, and no number of blankets would help. A
deep cave with a supply of water and a safe area to burn wood for heat might
increase one’s chances of survival. But it kind of begs the question: why
bother to survive in so desolate a world?
I hope knowing the fact that the
picture I just painted of dystopia is not in our foreseeable futures,
will give us all the lift we need at this point in the year. And by “this point”,
of course, I’m referring to those of us in North America that are north of the Mason-Dixon
line. We, who by virtue of having been either born here or chosen to relocate
here, are subjected to the four seasons of the planet, in all their extreme
glory. We, who by now are thoroughly sick of snow and ice and the frigid temperatures
that accompany them.
Don’t worry, all you who
hunger for spring. It truly is on its way. Every year as January closes, there
are two benchmarks we must hit before spring may arrive. First, of course, we
must have Groundhog Day. That is now done. Next, comes the Super Bowl. That game
must be a sign of spring, because once it’s done the spring season of
television shows begin. And then, just a few episodes into your favorite
entertainment programming should find you wearing a lighter coat as the
temperatures outside begin the rise that comes with the vernal equinox.
Meanwhile, here in my hermit
cave, I am attempting to get my paperwork in order in preparation for tax
season. Our deadline here in Canada is the end of April, as opposed to the
middle of it. Sometimes things get away from me. I think this is a flaw that is
somehow etched right into my DNA. Or at the very least, a bad habit that I cannot
overcome on my own. That this is so, absolutely confounds me. I can be so anal
about so many things—and so completely sanguine about others.
It's not a mix that has
necessarily served me well over the years, either. One would think that after
several mad scrambles on the part of yours truly, I would learn. Alas, I am
smart, but sometimes one would be hard-pressed to know it.
Having spent time last week
opining on the subject of rodent prognostication, I feel I must also give due
consideration to the Super Bowl as an harbinger of spring. Never let it be said
that I jinxed the springtime rituals by not giving due consideration to the
game.
When our younger son was in
his early teens, he played league football. We spent a lot of time at his
games, and of course, we were not silent spectators. We kept it clean but kept
it lively. My beloved and I even volunteered to wield the yard markers. Anthony
used to be kind of embarrassed about all the cheering coming from our cheap
seats on the sidelines. Well, until that time when a couple of his teammates
told him how lucky he was to have his parents there and cheering for him.
We have occasionally enjoyed football
in this house, but never watched it overmuch. In our early years together, there
was always a Grey Cup party in the late fall. The Grey Cup is the name of the Canadian
Football Championship game and its trophy. We attended the Grey Cup parade in
Hamilton on December 2, 1972. We had seats in the bleachers! Then the next day
we watched the game from our small Hamilton apartment. We would have gone to my
in-laws for the occasion but were smart enough to know that driving home post-game
would have meant dealing with traffic of epic proportions. And, this was just a
little more than a week before we had our first child.
We no longer make it a point
to watch any football, though we are aware of how the various teams in the
Canadian Football league do through each season. Apparently, however, these
days there is as much excitement for the Super Bowl up here in the great frozen
north, as there is down south below the 49th parallel.
Having watched a few minutes
of various Super Bowl games over the years, I have a question. How can you keep
the game in your focus, when it seems like there’s a commercial break after
every single play?
I tell you truly, that’s a
skill-set I simply do not have—nor do I have any hope of being able to acquire
it.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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