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Hey, Old Man Winter, get off my lawn!

By John Lamb, Forum Communications

Hey, Old Man Winter, we need to talk.

This will be short and sweet, which I wish I could say about our relationship.

We’re done. Finished. It’s over between us, and you need to move on.

You heard me. Don’t just stand there. Pack up all your snow and move on. I don’t care where you go. In fact, I don’t even want to know. Just go. Now.

Let’s face it, things haven’t been working well between us for a while. In fact, for the past two months, you’ve been miserable.

It’s not me; it’s you.

It’s always all about you.

Like Sunday night, when I wanted to go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. You didn’t want me to leave the house, and you were all like, “No, let’s stay home and watch Selection Sunday analysis on ESPN.” Ugh.

When I said I really wanted to go out that night, you huffed and you puffed and created such a fuss, I just took a book and went to bed.

I know we’ve been on-again, off-again for years. It was nice to have you around for the holidays after you couldn’t make it here last year. At least the kids really enjoyed it. They say it just doesn’t seem right without you at Christmas time.

Me, not so much.

You’ve really overstayed your welcome this time. I was ready to kick you out after the President’s Day storm. But kicking up such a fuss in the middle of March? And then just standing around, giving me the cold shoulder for a week?

It’s clear you’re just holding on for the sake of what used to be. You need to let go. Find a new place to settle down. Take some time and figure things out. Maybe go camp out on a mountaintop and give yourself a little space. Maybe somewhere in Antarctica.

Don’t worry about me. I’m ready for a change. I need to feel the warmth of a younger, sunnier season. Maybe I’ll have a spring fling some night. Yeah, I’d like to dip my toes in that.

Oh, I know it won’t last. Spring is flighty, fickle and fleeting. But it’s something different, which is more than I can say about you.

Maybe after that I’ll get lost in summer. We’ll hook up at the lakes and get sweaty and just lie around for months. It may not be productive, but I’ve deserved some kind of indulgence.

Maybe by then I can figure out how to get fall to stick around. We both know that’s the one true season for me, though it broke my heart when it let you in.

You were really only rebound season, something to hold me over until something warmer came along. You knew that, right?

Sure, you can call me unfaithful, but I call it growth, and that’s something you never do.

I wish I could say I wanted to remain friends, but I don’t.

Get out now.

Unfaithfully yours,

John Lamb