I’ve never been a fan of March.

March is supposedly spring, but we all know it’s not. In much of the country, more snow falls in March than any other month. But it doesn’t have the courtesy to stay. March snow falls, makes us shovel it, then turns into a sloppy mess in three days. It becomes slush, mixed with mud. The sky stays gray. And all the ... things (you know what I mean), things that were buried in previous snowfalls ... all those things come to light. Whatever they were, they are never better for having spent a few months under the snow. I don’t need to describe them. You know what I’m talking about.

March is filled with disappointment. Too early for things to bloom, too late for a frosty day, March is a party that is never going to happen, an event canceled in advance. I am an optimistic person by nature, but March always gets me down.

It seems nonsensical, but autumn is a more cheerful season. Things are dying, but they do it so colorfully! The air is crisp, and there will be celebrations and bonfires and new sweaters to wear.

What do you wear in March? Something you don’t mind getting muddy, that is my advice. You might as well wear those pants you plan on tossing out as soon as it is warm enough. Wear them with the boots that already have a hole in the toe. Your feet will get wet anyway. There is nothing you can do. It’s March.

I realize this is not turning into an uplifting column. I do not feel inspired by March; it is true.

But maybe that is because March is when big changes start to happen, and big changes are often not pretty.

Starting a new habit, ending a bad one, getting rid of something that is not working and replacing it with something that works better -- none of these things are pretty. Change is messy and fraught with mistakes, and it doesn’t look or feel easy or glamorous. June is easy and glamorous. March is clumsy and embarrassing and lonely and dull.

Maybe that’s why we need it.

Because change is necessary. The trees need it, and insects need it, and people need it most of all. We need to slough off the old stuff that isn’t doing us any good anymore, and we need to awkwardly embrace the new stuff we want to become a part of our life. And we can’t do that without some mud and some melting and some unpleasant discoveries under the snow.

I was thinking about butterflies recently, how they start out as caterpillars and emerge with brand-new, beautiful wet wings. Then they take off and fly to another continent like they know exactly what they are doing -- because they do. I admire everything about that. I admire their beauty, and assurance, and their ability to transform themselves.

But my sister-in-law, Lori, recently reminded me of something that I either didn’t know or had forgotten.

“When they are in the chrysalis, they dissolve,” she told me. “Their entire body turns to mush! If you open the chrysalis too soon, they never get wings.”

I realized I’ve been admiring butterflies for all the wrong reasons.

I’ve been admiring those beautiful wings after all the work is finished. I never stopped to think how it would feel to be mush inside a dark cocoon, making a change that will transform a worm into a magical creature.

Now I’m thinking, maybe that is what March is for.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

I know I am not the only one having travel fantasies.

My husband, Peter, and I were not planning to do a lot of traveling in the past year. That was our plan, and we certainly made good on it. We didn’t realize at the time that “not a lot of traveling” would mean a bi-weekly trip to the grocery store. Like a lot of folks, we’ve been tracking how many months we’re getting on a gallon of gas.

Now, however, traveling is sounding better all the time.

My parents are also making travel plans. Over the past year, they decided to sell the little cottage they have in Florida. Instead, they have a list of places they’d like to take their RV.

“There are too many other places we want to go!” My mother explained.

A year of sitting in their cabin has made them realize how many places there are to see and how little time there is to see them.

It’s true. A year of sitting and watching the months fly by makes a person realize how quickly the time passes. Sometimes, without the normal milestones, I completely lose track of time. I’ve caught myself glancing out the window with a feeling of panic, looking at the trees to give me a clue what season it is. (I am embarrassed to admit this -- but now I have.)

Peter’s oldest sister, Shelley, lost her husband to Alzheimer’s early in the pandemic. She’s now living with her son and daughter-in-law, waiting for a return to something like normal before finding a place of her own. She missed the trip to Norway two years ago, where Peter and a bunch of his older cousins all went to the small town his grandfather emigrated from. We met the Norwegian relatives who still live there, and they were unbelievably welcoming. It’s a sweet town, nestled in the mountains, sitting on a river, miles away from any major city.

“I think we should go back,” I told Peter. “And I think we should bring Shelley.” Peter liked the idea.

So, the next day, we called up Shelley. She had just gotten home from a dental appointment and had a sore mouth.

“Shelley! You are coming with us to Norway in September 2022!”

I held my breath, but I didn’t have to wait long.

“OK!” she said.

And, yes, it is more than a year and a half away, but it still feels wonderful to have a plan to go somewhere other than the grocery store. Just thinking about seeing a new landscape fills me with excitement.

Later in the day, I went for the hike I take every afternoon. It seems as if I’ve seen every tree along the way, noticed every rock, and as I walked, I thought how nice it would be to hike in completely unfamiliar surroundings.

But just as I was thinking this, I stopped and looked at the tree directly in front of me, caught in the afternoon light. I don’t remember ever really looking at it before. It’s a beautiful tree, in a forest of beautiful trees, and I have walked by it thousands of times without giving it a second look.

“You are a beautiful tree,” I told it (just in case it was listening).

Norway will be wonderful, I am sure. And I am sincerely looking forward to more travel in the coming year. But as I stood before that one beautiful tree, I promised myself I would try to pay more attention to the place I am visiting now -- right here, today.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

I remember, a long time ago, when I used to have a social life.

My husband, Peter, and I have been visiting his sister, Lori, once a week while she battles cancer. She was in yesterday for another radiation treatment, and we are waiting to hear if she will be feeling well enough for a visit this weekend. And so we stay home, as we have since March of last year.

Lately, we have taken to picking up our groceries at the curb. I was skeptical. I’d never had another person choose my broccoli for me. They did a surprisingly good job, and it’s one more thing we can do to feel a little safer while visiting Lori. But it’s also a little sad because the grocery store is the only place I go.

Now, I go nowhere except on my long daily walk and to visit Lori. And the only person who comes to our house is our neighbor, Yvonne, and the dog, Remington.

Yvonne’s dad is 90 and frail. He hasn’t been out of his house other than for a couple of doctor appointments and the occasional drive around town. Yvonne is keeping extra safe so she can bring him meals and groceries. Yvonne just retired and thought she’d be going places and doing things she couldn’t do while she was working. Instead, she’s walking her son’s dog, Remington.

Our twice-weekly visits from Remington have become the center of our social life.

Yvonne rings the doorbell and then steps back off the stoop. But Remington strains on his leash in anticipation. Yvonne confirms these visits are the highlight of his week.

Peter makes a wonderful smoked salmon, and we save the skin for Remington. I bring it out on a plate, along with a bowl of water. Remington eats the salmon and has a drink and then waits, poised, for the entertainment.

Entertaining Remington has become an elaborate affair.

Peter brings out exactly six “pub snacks,” which are crackers he has renamed “pup snacks.” He tosses them high in the air and Remington catches them. Peter calls this Remington’s “circus trick,” and Yvonne and I cheer wildly every time Remington catches a cracker. You can see Remington’s fierce concentration as he performs for three adults, focused on his performance. It’s a lot of pressure for one young dog, becoming the center of three adults’ social calendar.

This routine has become so firmly established that, one day, I was late with the salmon and Peter tossed the crackers before its arrival. Remington was visibly confused but caught the crackers. Then, one by one, he carefully placed them on the step to eat after the salmon because he knew that was the way it was supposed to be done.

And all the while we have been entertaining Remington, we have missed important milestones, experiences we will never have, moments lost forever.

My parents are in their 80s and I missed both their birthdays. My niece turned 18, which is impossible to believe. I hardly recognize my nephew on Zoom. He seems to have grown a foot and his voice has changed. I have missed attending the theater, missed seeing the ocean, missed entertaining friends, missed going to restaurants, missed hugging my family. And those are just things I know I have missed.

Meanwhile, Remington competes twice weekly for the title of “World’s Best Circus Dog,” my only live entertainment for the past 11 months.

“See you soon!” Yvonne says when she leaves.

“Goodbye, Remington!” I say, and Remington leaves, tail wagging.

I hope he comes back soon.

Till next time,

Carrie

Carrie Classon’s memoir is called, “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION