Past the fifteenth of March. I know, procrastinator.

Who the hell was the God, Mars, anyways…LOL.

Wow…it’s 18 degrees outside and rising. I somehow suspect this summer will be a deep fryer.

March. To me, it means impatience, torment and renewal. Before we segue into “April Showers“, we all usually get to watch the grass sloppily emerge from its deep winter slumber. That is generally followed by soul-dampening blizzards. To be a Canadian is to know patience as well as temperance during this volatile month.

With my capricious nature, I tend to want to go running naked through the streets at the first sign of a 5 degree Celsius day. However, I am certain that NO ONE wants to see a fur-laden Kewpie doll lumbering across their lawn. Once seen, it cannot be unseen, so I simply put on a pair of pants and spare the world that horrifying image. But that doesn’t seem to stop others from providing us all with unspeakable sights. From tramp-stamp laden girls sporting muffin tops in far too teeny camisoles to men who think a sagging, wrinkled body is setting new trends in fashion, we all try not to scream, however difficult that act of restraint might me. It’s too bad the visual offenders do not recognize the operative word in that sentence…restraint.

With March also comes the annual running of the hormones. I think that’s why March Break is so popular. A sexual free-for-all with no limits, it certainly is a perennial favourite of young students across North America. But March is not strictly for the young. Oh no. We men in general go into the “rut”. Like our antlered counterparts out in the land of Bambi, we grow want of release. A great many of us will strut our stuff, trying to attract that nameless companion, and with some cleverly applied bravado, might well end up satisfying our Neanderthal-infused urges. For those of us with partners, wives, what have you, there is potential fun for all. Those two weeks are potent, and oft-times frustrating, all at once.

As with any thaw, the smell of the earth emerging from its frozen state often triggers that rush of hormones. Tree sap flows, the smell of animal leavings assault your olfactory nerves, squirrels are running amok, breeding in your rain gutters, and little tweety birds all sing and flutter about, looking for someone to help feather a nest with.

The hood of your car forgives them, even if you don’t.

March is probably the most dynamic month out of the calendar year. It stands on its own, without any apology. Think about it for a second. What other month out there triggers so many catalysts. Well, we could say October. But despite the beautiful trees as well as the sweet smell in the air, it’s basically the “getting ready for bed” month. Summer is just the product of sunshine and bikinis. April and May are in full bloom, but they lack the emerging forces that come with the seasonal chrysalis of March.

In short, March is the month that all the earth’s energies build to a climax. It certainly makes for an interesting thirty-one days.

This year, March seemed to merge with April. What we lacked thus far was ferocious  winter storms. What we were getting instead are the muted tones of the kindest introduction to spring on record. Now, I am aware that some might see this from a wholly different perspective. Seeing your house take flight certainly can change your view a warm, spring day. My sympathies.

In a nutshell, March has a lot more going for it, even with the barren trees we see daily. We all know that at some point, soon, that spectacular shade of green that emerges for a short time before a leaf matures will be upon us.

Speaking of green…

March also bring to the party our love of everything Irish. It’s outasite!!! Those that are actually Irish, or of Irish descent sort of roll our eyes at those that sport all shades of green. We laugh as they run amok from bar to bar, drinking green concoctions, later relieving themselves of it, in a nondescript graffiti covered alleyway. Then as we, who did not partake in the festivities try to sleep, we get the singular privilege of hearing them bleet and whinny as they stumble home on their dizzying walk of shame.

All this, and heaven too!

And as we shift from the winter to spring, where March is the transitional month, all of us live with the reality that tomorrow we could potentially walk outside into yet another “Winter Wonderland”. Those of us that have seen a few too many know enough to leave the winter gear exactly where it’s been since October. For those that haven’t gotten wise to the unpredictable nature of said month, they often find themselves knee-deep in frigid weather, wearing sandals and shorts, while the sub-zero temperatures eradicate all traces of what was once a seemingly balmy day.  You want to feel sorry for them, but you can’t. It generally evokes scorn and judgement within the lot of us far more sensible than those turning blue in the streets. And you can bet a year from the date they gambled and lost, they’ll be at it again. Takes a few years for some to actually clue in.

So, while I enjoy this warm, beautiful St. Patty’s Saturday afternoon, I’d like to leave you, my reader, with one thought. It may seem wonderful being alive on some occasions during the month of March. That being said, there could be days as well that make you want to nuke the entire continent of North America, simply to up the heat a little. With all this in mind, you, as well as the trees, grass and creatures renew as well. March is a fresh slate. Go out and take advantage, and write great things all over it.

Happy Saint Patrick’s day my Martian-coloured friends.













Da Taz!!