Lousy Smarch Weather

If not for the fact that my daughter was born in March, it would be my least favorite month.

The shop closes up around the end of November, and December I decompress from a madcap season of woodworking. Global warming notwithstanding, January and February are a little too cold to do much of anything other than complain about endure Dry January and play video games (this year it’s Assassin’s Creed: The Wild Hunt Valhalla, which is fun but hasn’t gotten me as emotionally invested as its stylistic doppelganger The Witcher 3 and the much maligned Cyberpunk, or captures the endless grind of leveling up so perfectly as Mad Max).

But March? March lies. It’s the broken promise of warmer weather - getting out on the bike, opening up the woodshop, feeling like you should high five everyone and listen to the first six Van Halen albums - followed by a repeat of the prior months made worse because you can feel spring struggling to break through. “Nuh uh,” March says. “Not yet.”

Meh.

So I fret and pace and feel the walls closing in on me. I have about three months of sitting still in me and then the tank’s empty. it’s time to get moving. I have a potential commission to figure out, and a mess of sculpture ideas (one rhymes with “Bee Holder”, the other was a delightfully fucked up idea I had back in January), plus some more furniture for the house. Thinking also about doing some head wall plaques.

But first, it’s cloudy but warm enough to put in some road miles.