But I’ll spare you another sports entry. The other signs of spring? There are a few birds chirruping. Our days are getting longer (read: I can go for a run without a headlamp). I’m only drinking 6 cups a coffee per day as opposed to winter’s 8. The white glow of my skin is more visible than it was a few weeks ago. And of course, the weather is turning. We’re now mostly in the low 50s at the peak of day.
As I hear weather reports from our neighbors to the south, I grumble. Sure it’s warmer than t was in January – but a mere 10-12 degrees warmer. This is spring? Boohoo. Yet it’s not just this soft California boy complaining. The true sign of spring in the Northwest? Collective whining.
My good buddy Brenden loves it. He loves the wet days, the clouds acting as blankets to cozy us up. But everybody else I talk to – “waaa, waaa, waaa.”
“Why won’t it stop raining they wonder.”
“You’re in Seattle you dummy,” I think. “What are you expecting?”
My feet are cold. Softball practice in the rain is a new experience. When the sun comes out once a week, I sprint for the front window – still too cold to go outside for sunning. But when my colleagues who’ve lived here their whole lives complain, I feel a little better. Somehow our group complaint enables us to survive.
But I know I’m spoiled and life is good. Give me time and I’ll complain about almost anything. My vacation was too short. My latte had too much foam. My house isn’t big enough. Then I read Scripture or watch the news or talk with my eight-year-old. When I told her about the trips I used to take to Mexico to build houses for the needy, she wondered why they were only 10 x 20 feet long. “We’ve got more money. We can share more with them can’t we? People live in cardboard boxes?” ’Nuff said! I’ll gladly take my 45 degree spring day.
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