Proud-Pied April

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.
-- T.S. Eliot

We’re at that time of year when, here on the Massachusetts coast, the temperatures are finally starting to climb out of the frozen zones. We won’t hit the predicted, practically balmy 54 degrees Fahrenheit until mid-day today though.

This really, honest and truly, shouldn’t make a difference to me, right? Remember, I’ve gone triking in mid January when the daytime temps never got above 17 measly degrees and there was a wicked stiff wind screaming in off the bay. I'm hard core! Right?

It’s an entire 30 degrees out there right now. We're talkin' tropical, eh?

This is the time of year when coats are packed away, shorts are donned (even on 40 degree days because, HEY, it’s Spring for dog’s sake!) and BBQ grills are uncovered.

What up with me though? I’m cold all the damned time now. I’ve an extra, heavy, furry blanket on the bed (O hot flash, where is thy sting NOW when I really need you?) which Coco’s absolutely wild about. I imagine it feels like home, like motherness to her. We pasty, hairless mammals just don’t make the grade sometimes. I’m wearing layer upon layer of wool sweaters, scarves and flannel under my yoga pants and that’s when I’m INDOORS! 

My internal thermostat is seriously fucked.

Time to don my polar bear outfit and ride. If I don’t go now, I’ll crawl under the quilts and read all day. I just picked up Minette Walters’ latest The Chameleon’s Shadow and I’m psyched to dig in.

Trike first.

Hey, maybe Oni the Master Griller will BBQ later -- after all, it’s Spring!

April Come She Will -- Simon and Garfunkel