It’s spring time in Cleveland. Know how I know? Not only because all the snow that covered my lawn is melted, including the five foot pile where my driveway was plowed and the snow was pushed, but because I’m sitting on my picnic table, in my crazy creek, wearing sunglasses, shorts a tank top, and a bandana right now, with my laptop on the table surrounded by Lexis cases I printed last night. Yes, this was planned. Ahh the beauty behind being 28…

I figured, there were two days LAST week where it was 70 (Wednesday and Thrusday) and I worked. Didn’t enjoy them. Nope. (And, adding insult to injury, worked on a NON BILLABLE project, but I digress.) Then, on my days off over the weekend, we had The Belated April Fool’s Blizzard. Well fuck that. That ain’t happening to me again. I said, “Spring, you give me a 70 degree day again, and I promise to make good use of it. I promise that I will enjoy it. I won’t take it for granted.”

In my entire time at work (ok, only 2½ years, but still) I have never ONCE taken off in the middle of the week for any reason. That’s because I’ve only been “can’t go to work sick” once, and I was out five days that time (and still went back before I should have) and every other day I’ve worked from home or just not felt like going in, it’s “conveniently” been a Friday. So I’ve never not gone to work on a day that didn’t make it a long weekend for me. But a first time for everything. After all, a promise is a promise.

What I was most amazed about is, I FORGOT what 70 degrees felt like. How warm the sun is. How nice it is. I can’t believe I forgot this feeling. It’s one of those pure contentment things that you swear, “I will never forget how wonderful this is” and then, as time goes on and the snow never melts and turns black or yellow, it sorta slips from your mind. You recall things like “spring” and “summer” and “sun” and “warmth,” but you don’t really remember them in the same way. That feeling is lost. Like, I forgot that, despite being Mediterranean and all, and not having any freckles on my face, the first time I’m out in the sun, I’ll get them on my arm. I forgot that when it’s warm out, you don’t want pop, you want Lemonade. That 70 degrees can feel really really warm when you’ve been used to 30, even though if it’s only 70 in August, I’m wearing jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt or summer sweater. I forgot the “warm spring” spells. I forgot all of that.

Until today. And as it’s early spring, I saw the squirrels romping, hear the birds chirping. And the treated me as if I was just part of the picnic table I was sitting on. No threat to them.

Cleveland this time of year is truly magnificent. Yes. I complained about the snow that buried us this weekend, but like I said last week, this is the time of year when spring just kicks winter’s ass. Winter may get in a few (sucker) punches (he’s dirty that way) and spring may fall to her knees for a moment, but then she rises again. She lures him into a sense of security, then just fucks with his masterpiece. (“You wanna bury NEOH with snow. Yeah, that ain’t gonna work for me. Let’s see, a few 70 degree days and – oh – where did your snow go?”) And really, where ELSE can you have 70 degrees Wednesday and Thursday, then 20 and 30 degrees with at least seven inches of snow Saturday and Sunday, and then 70 degrees on Tuesday and Wednesday again? Only April in Cleveland can deliver that. (Or Cleveland in May…or September…or October…even on occasion in November, December, January, February, or March…though in those months, it’s more like winter is having his way with the warm weather. The bastard. But I can affirmatively state, and you can write it down as a “truism,” I think we are safe from “the s word” in June, July, and August.)