In the post-holiday slump, when the very last sparkly decoration has been boxed up and hidden away, and the festive spirit has faded but several months of winter remain, I have but one thought that has always sustained me: February.
I’ll be honest, when I was a child the thought of February perked me up because this is my birthday month, and what kid does not immediately calculate the distance to their birthday once the last Christmas present is opened?
Of course, my unquenchable thirst for more presents has mellowed considerably over the decades, but February retains its sparkle for several reasons.
It’s oddly short, and I think that’s kind of cool. And then it does that thing every four years with the extra day. How cool is that? Can you name another month that does that? I didn’t think so.
It’s Black History Month, and I love that. I know that this is controversial, and I absolutely understand the contraversy. Why only one month? However, Black History Month was introduced because black history had been long overlooked and marginalized. I love history and I love learning about figures and events which would otherwise be woefully overlooked.
Mardi Gras. We are heavily into that particular holiday in these parts. These days my Mardi Gras consists of cooking up wonderful Cajun food and attending family friendly parades, but it’s still so much fun.
TCM’s 31 Days of Oscar. Yes, the folks at Turner Classic Movies – AKA, the best channel, ever – have managed to cram 31 days into little 28-day February. How they do that, I don’t know. But for the entire month of February, and for apparently a few days in March, they offer viewers a selection of Oscar nominees and winners – for movies, performances, documentary shorts, etc. – from the past eight decades of motion picture history. The lineup invariably includes 1927’s Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, the first ever winner for best picture. And if you have know me for even a short while, you know that I love old movies.
My son’s birthday. Nine years ago this month, I was hugely pregnant with my first child. I brought him home from the hospital on my birthday. Never had my birthday ever been so little about me, and so much about someone else. And that was just fine. February each year marks the anniversary of motherhood for me, the point in which my life was forever divided into before and after.
And so you have my list, although I am sure there is more. But suffice to say…I love this month.