Groundhog Day is no longer a diversion

It won’t be long before that pessimist of a rodent known as Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow and declare six more weeks of winter. I have come to the conclusion that even if the entire planet was shrouded in clouds and rainstorms, there would be a single ray of sunshine to frighten the pampered groundhog into dashing our hopes for an early spring.

I suppose that if one lives in a library with none of its own kind to talk to and is allowed outside only one day a year then perhaps a shadow would be scary. Being manhandled by portly men in top hats probably isn’t its idea of fun, either. What is really scary is that we believe in the power of prediction by an animal that in real life doesn’t pay attention to such folderol.

Phil’s accuracy doesn’t seem to be any better or worse than most meteorologists in my opinion. Spring will officially arrive on March 20 no matter what Phil or anyone else predicts.

However, we all know that spring is more than a date on a calendar. Spring is a feeling in the air. It is a season of hope and renewal. It is a time for the earth to awaken from its long nap. In the cold, grey days of winter it is something to look forward to. In these times of instant gratification, anticipation is highly under valued.

For me, the innocent days of thinking that Groundhog Day is a harmless diversion have been pushed aside by the fact that my mom died that day. It has been two years already since the phone rang at three in the morning to tell me she was gone.

I would rather be thinking about a fuzzy marmot than mourning my mom. I keep waiting for the sense of loss to ease and am becoming aware that will never happen.

To distract myself, I peruse the plant catalogs. They promise beautiful blooms and tasty vegetables. Our own resident groundhog, who shall remain nameless, has been known to dig a hole beneath the compost bin. From there it is a short waddle to its personal buffet that I call a garden.

Punxsutawney Phil doesn’t have that option. He may be pampered but he doesn’t have the freedom to raid anybody’s garden. He will never dig a burrow beneath anyone’s compost bin. He only has one job, to provide a diversion on a typically dreary time of year. No one cares that he is wrong more often than not. If I were him, I would die of boredom.

It seems that this January has more than made up for the relatively warm winters we have been having lately. We missed the worst of it because we were away visiting my daughter and spoiling her children.

Despite that, I am more than ready for winter to be over. Maybe I should invent a pair of groundhog glasses that obscures shadows. Then if Phil actually predicts an early spring we can all look forward to warmer weather, even if he is wrong.