Today, February 1st, is Imbolc. St. Brigid’s Day. In Gaelic tradition, it marks the beginning of spring.
February 2nd, tomorrow, is my birthday. I have always hated it.
I’ve always hated a winter birthday because I hate winter. I don’t like the cold, I want the sweltering humidity of August. February is the opposite of August – the six month opposite. (I also hated being asked if I saw my shadow, since February 2nd is Groundhog’s day.)
But this year I learned it is also Candlemas day, or the the celebration of the day Jesus was presented to the church. Since Christian holidays are adopted from pagan ones, I’m sure February 2nd wasn’t really a a big day for Jesus, but it is a big day for me as a heat-lover. While is it not truly the beginning of spring in the sense it begins the spring season, it does mark the halfway point in the winter season; the point at which it is closer to spring than it is to fall. When more winter is behind us than in front of us. Our race is nearly done.
What I was working, pre-Wee One, I used to refer to lunchtime on Wednesday as the point at which the week “tipped over.” If you picture a week as though you’re walking on a teeter totter, Wednesday lunch was the day the up side went down and the down side went up. It tipped over. (Am I making sense?) Right now, the year is tipping over.
Today I realized I have a new reason to love my birthday, because it is the day that the winter season tips over to spill us into the sun.
I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving 