Published March 26, 2006 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
By Aaron J. Brown
Do you like elaborate allegories? Try this one.
You’re stuck in a room. A plate full of doughnuts sits on a table. (If you don’t like doughnuts picture something you do like, such as pot pies or tins of chewing tobacco). You go to grab your favorite and, suddenly, a giant bear roars into the room, eats the whole plate, and then leaves. You’re not worried about the doughnuts because you just avoided a bear mauling. Even up, you figure.
Now picture the same scenario: only, instead of a bear, a squirrelly little guy named Larry wanders into the room. He starts licking the doughnuts to determine which tastes best and, after licking the whole dozen, goes back to the first one. Then he starts talking about religion and things that itch. Now you DO care about the doughnuts. And though neither the bear scenario nor Larry scenario could be described as pleasant, there is something decidedly less pleasant about Larry.
For me, January is the bear and March is Larry. March is technically “nicer,” but so much more ambiguous that January. If it’s warm today, it will become cold the precise moment you decide to wear a thinner jacket. In January you can count on the cold; in March you can’t count on anything.
Too much convoluted symbolism? A little too “Old Man and the Sea” for your taste? Well, deal with it. March always makes me grumpy. It’s a busy month, for one, but it’s also so very sadistic. It gives you a taste of spring; it even gives you the first actual DAY of spring. But everyone in northern Minnesota knows that real spring won’t show up for another month, and even then it might snow after stores put their swimsuits on clearance.
In March, most of the heavy duty ice begins to melt away; but when a cold snap happens you end up with an instant sheet of very slippery ice. This led to a close call for me just last week.
You see, I claim to be a runner. To keep up this appearance I must occasionally attempt actually running, something difficult to do when the ground is like a post-Zamboni hockey rink. Last month, miracle of miracles, I obtained these chain-like things to strap to my shoes so I could run on ice and snow. They actually work; in fact, they are pure magic. Only one problem arose: a false sense of security.
After running a brisk two miles, I jogged over the walk up to our back steps. My chest was heavy with the cold air (either that or the multiple months of macaroni and cheese-induced artery blockages). Without a care, I scampered over the icy walk at the base of the steps and went inside, where I removed the magic shoes.
About an hour later I bolted out to get the papers, forgetting that I was now wearing the shoes of a mere mortal. The instant the rubber of my soles brushed the ice I found myself in one of those “parallel with the ground contemplating what will soon be a painful fall” situations. It went about how you’d expect.
In January, you know to be careful on the ice. You know to drive slower because of all the snow. But there’s March, singing its siren song, lulling us into complacency. Sure, I survived my fall (in fact, it gave me valuable perspective on what our tumble-inclined nine-month-old son is going through these days). But I now greatly await a month that is exactly what it appears to be.
Here in Minnesota, that won’t be until July. Maybe.
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.