Froze

Last day of January. 211 days until Irish Fest.

I don't mind telling you, the cold is getting to me, man. More snow on the way today, and the endless month of February looming before us.

I've had it. I want to stow the sweaters and pack up the parka. I want August. I want the warm sun on my head on the Thursday afternoon before Irish Fest as I hang banners on tents. I want to be wearing my staff t-shirt and cargo shorts with pockets packed full of zip ties, which are what really holds Irish Fest together. I want to sweat as I assemble the Terrace Stage backdrop, high up inside that big white canopy, imaging the great musical moments to come. Last year as I did that job, I took a moment to stand mid-stage, look out over my audience of grass and sidewalk and think "this is where the Saw Doctors will be in three days." My imagination didn't do the real scene justice. Who knows what great moments await us this year on those warm late summer nights? I want that warmth. From the weather and from the 85,000 bodies who'll pack into Crown Center for our annual hooley.

I want a fast forward button on my calendar. I want Irish Fest. Instead, I'll go pick out the day's sweater. Better make it a warm one.

Sigh.