Today turned out to be the day. Tuesday. April 21. Far later in the calendar than those living in other places might imagine.
Oh, there have been springlike days in the last month or so, but we always knew that they were just teases. (And I noticed highs only in the fifties lurking next week.) But today was the day nonetheless. I am sure of it. Cherry blossom trees showing out. Birds singing in the bright blue sky. Smiling students lounging on the stunningly green grass, one calling out to me: Hey Dean Sturgeon, is this what California is like?
Yes, it is exactly like this.
All I recall is that it was at a wedding event sometime years ago when I lived in Malibu, probably the rehearsal, when I met a young couple in from Montreal, friends of either the bride or groom. We talked of the weather, probably how perfect it was in SoCal, which it always was. I am sure that I said that I would love to visit Montreal someday, and I suspect that I made it clear that winter was out the question since I was sure that I would never choose to experience a real winter on my own. I remember that the young man insisted that I would have to visit in the winter, which he described as magical. But he described one other phenomenon that really captured my attention. He described a day that happens every year in the spring after a long, long winter when suddenly, somehow feeling like a surprise, spring would appear, and everyone would emerge from their hibernation with an indescribable joy. He said it was the best day of the entire year.
I remember thinking two things. One, I never want to live somewhere with a bitter winter. But two, wow, wouldn’t that be incredible.
Today was that day in my part of Wisconsin. Tuesday. April 21. And it was incredible.
I drove home from work today with the windows down and the sunroof open. I turned on the news at home and fully expected the meteorologist not to use degrees and atmospheric conditions to describe the weather but to say instead that today was happy outside. Because it was.
When we lived in Malibu we told ourselves never to take the constantly beautiful weather for granted, and I think we succeeded. And it is hard to argue with living somewhere where it is almost always perfect outside. But I have learned that there is also something very special about having to wait and wait and wait for something, through month after month of coats and gloves, warm hats and long underwear, snow shovels and ice scrapers, frozen lakes and runny noses, dark days and air so cold that it literally hurts to breathe. Yes, there is something special about that, too, arguably even better, and when that special long-awaited day arrives, that dude from Montreal was right. I’m not sure it was the best day of the year, but it was a damn good one.
Today was happy outside.
Starting to Look Up 