04 February 2007

Groundhog Day

The moon is no ghostly galleon this morning, though it floats in a wind tossed sky above the west parking lot of Big Pink. Silver light from its serene pale face battles that of the rising sun. It will lose, of course, but it is not going without a struggle. Rays of cold seem to emanate from it, embracing the trees and tickling the cars like fingers from the tomb.

Winter is late, but it is here. The wind chill is down around zero. Back home the Bay is about to freeze over, going slowly gray under gray skies until the life is bled right out of it and it turns as white as the Moon.

The Superbowl passed without embarrassing anyone overmuch, and the commercials were great. At the end of the sodden affair, the Indianapolis Colts and Peyton Manning were the champions of the National Football League. It was the wettest game in memory, and was glad I was not sitting in it. At least the fans were not cold.

I am happy with the outcome, to the degree that one can be happy about the success of someone else's advertising campaign. They say that Peyton looked more relieved than joyful. I suspect he already had a lot of commercials schedule to be filmed during the off season.

I think I am happier for Tony Dungee, the coach who has eliminated another one of those “firsts,” and helps us all move on.

The Chicago Bears struggled manfully, and I felt bad for them. Disappointment has settled once more on the City with the Big Shoulders by the lake.

I talked to my younger son up in Michigan before the game. His housemates had arranged for a keg to be delivered, and another in the long line of celebrations was about to commence.

“Dad,” he said. “It is really cold here.” Of course he didn't actually use those words. The real ones were starker, like blunt instruments. I imagined the flat brown dirt of central Michigan with the wind blowing over it unimpeded, straight from Saskatchewan, and the chinks in the old house where the icy claws could grip him. “I was thinking about moving to Chicago after graduation.”

“It is a fine city,” I said. “It is vibrant and exciting, has great architecture and a fabulous cultural life.”

“Yeah, I know. But I am not going to do that. It is too cold.”

“A little temperature is not something to base a life decision on, Son,” I said cautiously, thinking about the rain that had fallen in Miami throughout the entire game, soaking all, pooling on the sidelines, drowning cars and maybe the whole city, too.

“You did.”

“That wasn't all it was about, it was about having a job, and besides it is cold here in Washington, too.”

“Yeah, but it wasn't cold in Honolulu or Jacksonville or San Diego. Any of those places would be fine,” he said wistfully. “Even Washington only gets cold for about fifteen minutes and then everything is warm.”

“You just have the Groundhog Day blues. They pulled the big rodent out of the ground last Friday in Pennsylvania and he did not see his shadow. Winter is over in six weeks.”

“It might be over in six weeks there, but it is going to be cold until June here in Michigan. I can't stand it.”

“This is why the old pagans had the festivals in December,. It kept everyone distracted through the beginning of the cold, and by the time they woke up and looked around in January, things were getting better. The days were getting longer. February is a short month, over almost before you know it, and then we are in March.”

“March means more snow here, Dad,” he said glumly. I rooted around on the counter for the official forecast. I found it and squinted. “Listen, here is what they claim the big rat said in Punxsutawny:

El Nino has caused high winds, heavy snow, ice and freezing temperatures in the west.
Here in the East with much mild winter weather we have been blessed.

Global warming has caused a great debate.
This mild winter makes it seem just great.

On this Groundhog Day we think of one thing.
Will we have winter or will we have spring?

On Gobbler's Knob I see no shadow today.
I predict that early spring is on the way.”

There was embarrassed silence on the other end of the phone. “Dad, the keg just got here. I gotta go.”

“Enjoy it responsibly, Son.”

“Yeah, right.”

Copyright 2007 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com

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