I remember that winter that The Who was born. It was not that long ago, of course, but it feels like a million years. He was so little and vulnerable and I felt the same way. We weren’t supposed to go out in public, for fear of the dreaded under-two-months-old fever and the flu was rampant. I took him to Babies R Us one afternoon and then to lunch and felt guilty about it for three weeks. We sat inside. We watched snow fall. We slept on the couch together under blankets, and we waited and waited and waited.
And when spring came, it was the most amazing, gratifying season change I’d ever experienced.
And now, each year when spring tries to hint about its imminence, it feels like an old friend coming to visit. Like finding a treasured photo buried beneath a pile of books.
And it seems The Who feels it, too. C’mon, spring!