February

Whine, whine, whine. If you haven't figured it out already, this is not my favorite time of year. When we lived in Maryland and had many literary friends who lived close by, we would have a tea and poetry reading this time of year, to dispel some of our gloom. At the close of the poetry reading, when things got silly, we would always read a selection from Steve Martin's Cruel Shoes. Here is one of my favorites, about the kind of winter I always wish for:
The Year Winter Lasted Nine Minutes
Well, we were all set for a long winter. We got the wood out; we got the animals barned up. It was the last of November and we felt winter coming and suddenly we saw the storm start to hit, and it was fierce. We rushed inside and got the fire goin', and Ma started some broth. Then about nine minutes later, it was spring. Dangdest thing I ever saw. There we were, standin' outside in our mufflers an' sheepskin coats, seein' the birds chirpin' and the flowers bloomin' and it was about ninety degrees. Then, we all looked at each other for about two weeks.