One of the funniest traits most humans have in common is that they forget pain and hardship very quickly. I imagine that it must be a defense mechanism of the brain: if we were able to recall in vivid and excruciating detail every painful or disappointing event that had ever happened to us, we might get very depressed indeed.

On the other hand, if you forget the pain, you may also forget to make sure it will not come back. So let me write this down while it is still with me:

February is a very blah month around here. February is to the year what Monday is to the week, a bleak period without many prospects for fun, and you just have to rely on your sense of duty to work yourself through it. It's not just that it's winter. It's winter in December, too, but then there's all the parties and cards and goodwill. And in January you still have your new Christmas toys to play with. But in February there's nothing much to look forward to. Your tan is definitely gone, you get the flu again, and things have been cold and snowy for so long that you might get the idea that maybe, maybe this time, there is not going to be any spring.

There's a children's book that tells about that time of the year. It's called Frederick, and it's written by Leon Lionni. The philosophical depth of books for kids is easy to underestimate; this one has certainly got something important to say. Frederick is a mouse, and while all the other mice are working their tails off to store supplies for winter, he just sits around and watches things. "What are you doing Frederick?" they ask him, and he tells them that he is storing sunshine and harvesting colors. The other mice don't try to correct his anti-social behavior, and they even share their pantry with him. But when food and the warmth and the gossip run out - it must be February by then - they turn to Frederick. He makes them close their eyes, and he tells them of summer, and flowers and sunshine, and he does it so well that they can feel the heat and smell the roses. "But, Frederick, you are a poet!" they tell him. "I know it," he answers, and blushes.

That's what we need in February, a poet to celebrate that life is bound to continue. Maybe not a poet in the flesh, there is not necessarily one Frederick in every crowd, and not every poet is an optimist. But we collect pick-me-ups all year long, poems, cartoons, songs, stories, the kind that make the blood run hot, that make the eyes twinkle and the smile twitch. And then, at the February membership meeting, and in the February newsletter, we can share them and remind one another that there really is going to be another summer. Just jot it down on your calendar.

--Anne Zeilstra