Even seasoned New Englanders can't warm up to this spring
by Beth Teitell

Thursday, April 19, 2001

Enough is enough.

I know, I know. We live in New England, so we shouldn't expect the spring to be, oh, I don't know, springy.

Even so, yesterday was pushing it. ``It's winter again,'' a woman said as she crammed into the seat next to me on the T, her bulky down coat making the space tight.

And don't tell me, as Jason Franklin, a National Weather Service meteorologist did, that we've received less snow than average for the month. A trace when 1.1 inches are normal.

``But hasn't this spring been worse than usual?'' I persisted, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I unlaced my boots.

``What do you mean by worse?'' Franklin wanted to know.

It was a good question. By worse did I mean that Lily Pulitzer is back in style, and that if it ever does warm up, I might find myself wearing bright yellow floral pants with a pink floral shirt and lime-colored ribbon belt?

Was I griping about TV? Did I want the weathercaster's confirmation that ``Friends'' has gone even further downhill? That ``Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'' is slipping? That ``Law & Order'' is getting formulaic?

Or perhaps I was referring to the Red Sox, who are doing better than usual, obviously setting us up for an even harder fall.

I could have been talking about myself, and by ``worse'' meant that in an average spring I'm in better shape heading into bikini season than I am now.

While that's true, it wasn't the subject of my call.

I wanted to talk weather.

``It's nothing unusual,'' Franklin said, reminding me about the 22.4 inches of snow that fell during the April Fools' storm in '97.

True, that was a lot of white stuff, but that was way back in the 1900s, that sepia-toned century when kids walked 10 miles to school and were happy to get an orange for a present. Back then they expected snow. We, with our high-tech winter gear and SUVs, don't.

On Wednesday morning, for goodness' sake, Al Roker used the words ``wind chill,'' and he wasn't referring to some place uninhabitable like Chicago or Wisconsin, but to Boston.

I thought spring was the time when a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, not shoveling.

But, as they say, it's better to turn on a Beaux Arts Torchiere from Restoration Hardware than curse the darkness, so instead of whining, let's take action.

First, the blame:

It's the pilgrims' fault. They were aiming for the mouth of the Hudson River (which according to their documents was in northern Virginia). If they hadn't gotten blown off course and wound up in the Bay State, Southie would be in Soho, Fenway in Queens, and Harvard Yard next to Zabar's. It would be warmer ``here.''

Second, let's change the definition of ``spring.''

From now on, it is not ``the season between winter and summer comprising . . . the months of March, April and May,'' as Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary defines it, but will extend from tax day until May 31, if it's lucky.

So spring, consider yourself warned: one more year like this, and next year you're out. We're going straight from winter to summer. You think it can't be done? Believe me, if yesterday were a ``winter'' day, no one would have been complaining. We would have been happy. Well, at least it didn't accumulate!

I don't mean to threaten, but if I were you, I'd consider a little spring training. Or at least you could make this weekend nice. Please!!!!