Desperately Seeking Spring

I was baking brownies today and, looking out the kitchen window, I got SO excited! I saw GRASS! Wait.... that doesn't sound right. One thing has entirely nothing to do with the other. Really. No matter how open-minded the Canadian government may be. What I meant was - I saw GREEN! This is a big deal to me because basically that meant I wasn't seeing WHITE. To a resident of the "Great White North", this time of year never fails to awaken that childlike belief in fairy tales - especially the one that says Old Man Winter actually takes a vacation. You see, here in Canada, we have four seasons too. Others call theirs Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall. Ours are a little different - we call them "Winter", "Filthy Slush", "Holy crap! It's finally over" and "Tune up the snowblower". Harbingers of spring elsewhere are sweet. Romantic. You know, robins singing, blossoms bursting forth with the promise of..... yeah, yeah, you get where I'm going already. Here, a young man's fancy turns to navel rings and ultra low-rise jeans. Can't blame 'em really. I mean, after what seems like a thousand months of androgenous, Nanook of the North cover-ups, it's about time their hormones got a fair shake. Outerwear to underwear in 2.5 seconds flat. Anyway, this line of thinking made me really sit up and take notice. I've realized that the change of season is much different north of the border. I thought I'd share some of my observations from those of us Desperately Seeking Spring. Transportation modes: Folks tend to burst out of their cars like baby chicks hatching out of eggs. At any given moment, you stand an equal chance of being run down by a skateboarder, inline skater or, heaven forbid, an extreme cyclist. The differentiating factor here is that all of these folks will still be wearing a tuque. Translation: knit hat, usually featuring a pompom on top.... à la "Bob and Doug Mackenzie". Joggers are the exception to this rule. They break out the spandex shorts when the thermometer hits a balmy 4 degrees Celsius. Next translation: that would be just shy of 40 real degrees. On the less fashionable side of human transportation, the Mall Walkers have emerged to hit the streets. Nothing like sauntering out for the morning paper, decked out in a ratty bathrobe at 6:30 a.m., only to be observed by about 40 arm-pumping, lamaze-breathing, water-toting senior citizens in more expensive footwear than I will ever own. Cars: Once the novelty of getting out of your car wears off, men, in particular, shift their focus right back to their "babies". Other species are driven to reproduce in the spring. The human male's blood starts rushing south with that first whiff of Turtle Wax. Guys that track snow and mud through the house all winter long are now yelling at you to take off your shoes before you get in the car because they just Scotchguarded the floor mats. There are the Spring Skeptics though. They are the people that still have their snow tires on. Readily identifiable, too, since they have no hubcaps. Oh! These are also the same people who only go through the car wash on really warm days because they are convinced that their doors will still freeze shut overnight. Canadian Tire: For those of you who are unfamiliar, this chain of stores is a combination hardware / automotive / housewares / gardening / lighting / plumbing / sporting goods emporium. I believe they stop just shy of a grocery aisle. Canadian Tire becomes a world unto itself in the spring. Teens gather proudly in Automotive, buying anything that is cheap and even remotely car-related. They have no idea what the hell they are buying, of course, but holding tight to that bottle of "something" they should probably pour into "somewhere" under the hood makes them very self-important and cooler than their non-driving friends. The poorest of the poor spring for a new air freshener. Gotta have that "new pine tree" smell. Over in the Seasonal area, men are drooling over gas grills that resemble space shuttles. Somewhere around July, they will actually launch the damn things. This phenomenon occurs as "start buttons" everywhere cease to function and men decide that sticking a match into the little hole on the side of the grill to meet Mr. Propane is a better idea than getting the igniter repaired. Women, of course, are not off the hook when it comes to Spring Stupidity Syndrome. Just the other day I saw a woman, who lives in the apartment building down the street, buying somewhere in the area of 7000 packets of seeds. She has a balcony garden. I really hope she is renting several acres of farmland somewhere or I may be renting out my spare room to her children until at least the early crops are harvested. A pleasant walk around my block reveals that the neighborhood dogs have outdone themselves this year in their attempts to provide spring fertilizer. People gather on front lawns, having in-depth conversations for the first time in months. Their topics of choice? Peat moss, manure, those disgusting grubs that gladly make a meal out of your lawn... and all of this with a straight face and the seriousness usually reserved for summit meetings. All I know is that I love the feel of the warm sun on my skin, the lightness in my step (trading in my boots for good ole Reeboks helps that along) and the hope that winter has finally been put to rest. If I wake up tomorrow to three feet of snow and ice so help me I'm going to clear it with a broom or just wait for it to melt. Once those shovels go into the shed, they AREN'T coming back out until sometime in December. Well, I'm off to enjoy the fresh spring air, those brownies.... and my grass. Not together. Of course. I'd send you all some but I'm suddenly really, really hungry.