Every year about this time, right after the Super Bowl (which was a snooze this year), I tell my wife this gloom and doom of winter is just awful and will be until we see the first crocuses bloom. I go into a morose state. I am just not fun to be around. And I usually am.
Yes, it’s true, and it has become even worse because the Super Bowl used to be mid-January.
Now, thanks to vociferous greed, the NFL season has been extended into February and has thus made winter even more prolonged. By extending the playoffs the NFL has lulled us into a false sense that the winter is shorter. It’s not shorter, and it’s worse because it feels extended. You will hear people say this has not been that bad a winter. Well, my plumbing bills tell a different story. I have never had so many burst pipes, both in my West Village co-op and at my farm. Ceilings have collapsed and skylights have leaked more this season than I can ever remember.
So, here we are in early March, hunkered down holding our breath for late March when those crocuses begin to appear. Late March is when once again we can enjoy dining alfresco. We can then start our mornings on a sidewalk bench while watching the parade of West Village dogs being walked without booties and coats, and watching the young mothers in their yoga outfits pushing their children in prams with the tops down—all the while, savoring a cup of joe at Cafe Panino Mucho Gusto.
—Gordon T. Hughes