Right now I’m writing on my bed, unable to release myself from the comfortable grip of lounging around horizontally. From here I can see the gray sky that inevitably means it’s 40 degrees or colder outside, and I can see the patches of snow on my roof that will leave slush and grime for days.
It is a belated winter. I do not need to go into detail about the caprices of Charlottesville weather — I think we’ve covered that on every viable form of social media. It still seems odd though, weather patterns and groundhogs aside, that the snow we wished for in December — preferably during finals — is hitting us in late March, days after “spring” began. It’s like Mother Nature is holding onto something, to this belated winter, because she is not ready to give us spring. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to receive it.
Everything seems to be happening out of sequence lately. This weekend I celebrated “prom” on a Thursday, stayed in on a Friday night, and drank cheap beer during the day Saturday to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day six days late. I rarely know what day of the week it is, and certainly I never know the date. Holidays don’t belong to calendars, only to the people who choose to dress up and celebrate at whatever time they so choose.
Maybe when my roommates and I decided to throw a prom throwback party, “Class of ’09, so fine,” we were really throwing the party four years too late. Or maybe it was at just the right time. Maybe the make-believe world that we concocted a few weeks ago as we crafted our Facebook event is a world we needed in the spring semester of our final year. A world with prom candidates, superlatives and head cheerleaders. A silly venture into a world we left behind a long time ago, but nevertheless a world we would like to celebrate now.
One of my roommates had her birthday during spring break, and instead of running around and cheering for her 22nd, we went up to all the live bands playing at bars and insisted she was having her “16th birthday.” We were just celebrating a few years later. The bands, albeit confused and slightly concerned about the legality of their announcement, would pause before their next song to announce the celebration of a sweet 16. Everyone cheered: our friends, retired women who bought us celebratory drinks and strangers lingering in every corner of the bar. It was like everyone was in on the joke — the joke that wasn’t a complete joke. As the final semester of your college careers comes to a close, the days of celebrating a sweet 16 feel a lifetime ago. You wonder when you will ever want to look at your calendar again.
I detest the cold and the soggy snow clinging to my poor old Jeep that doesn’t like to start. My snow boots give me blisters and my face becomes numb minutes after I leave the warmth of my home on Gordon Avenue. But I don’t know what I will do come April, come flowers blooming and wine-tasting and boys sitting on roofs blaring music and balancing on lawn chairs.
I’m not ready. I need to have more belated celebrations — maybe it’s time again for Valentines’ Day or Christmas. It’s time again to take a day where people can come together and pause. Where we can raise our glasses or our plates or our hands, and cheers. Cheers to one more day without a set schedule. Cheers to one more day of sleeping off a hangover on a Wednesday afternoon. Cheers to just one more day.
Last year Mother Nature ushered in spring in all her glory, and I took advantage of my favorite season. But this year is not last year, and she is not ready to give me my final favorite season at the University of Virginia. I think I’m ready for what’s next — for moving away, for growing up, for seeking out the new and unexplored. But I won’t complain about the wintry mix outside of my window. I think I’ll hold on for just a little while longer.
Mary Scott’s column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at m.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com
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