As I gathered my folded clothing from the chair and turned to sit down to dress, I’d forgotten that my vintage silver bracelet, encrusted with stones, was still on the seat, and I proceeded to plant my bare buns right on top of it.

Nearing the ceiling in one yelp, I was elated to discover my reflexes were as electric as ever. I hobbled to Rainbow Blossom for a tube of herbal analgesic.  And I think I was considering a second tattoo. It would be a while before the round imprint would fade.

I’m sharing this moment of pain and humility with you because it would mark, literally, the beginning of my personal wellness and creativity Journey into Spring 2013!

Sounds good, doesn’t it?

I figured if you give anything a bold, show-biz title, it just might be seen to fruition!

So what if I got off on the wrong foot, er, cheek? My goals should be within reach, because it’s March – the doormat to spring!

There’s really no place like Louisville, Ky., in the spring – that magical, unpredictable time of weather forecasts and horse racing that begins with a burst of shamrocks and ends with an infusion of humidity and fireflies.

Soon enough, we’ll witness the silent popping of dogwood blossoms among minty green leaves, and vines that creep and spiral out of dead winter wood. By late April, the air will be viscous with honey and birdsong, and no one will want to work.

By May, our hills and streets will be festooned with flowers, so even if you’re already drunk with the beauty of it all, press on with a gimlet or julep on the front porch.

For now, March can be stark, but it holds the promise of a thaw, followed by warmer rains pinging on your window.

The word “march” is also a verb, so pick up the pace, pack the sweaters, wash the Ts!

And while in the midst of experiencing climate chaos – spotting daffodils one week and scraping ice from our windshields the next – I plan on getting a head start on my goals.

Weight loss shouldn’t be a problem, once I remove the countless strands of beads tossed in the annual St. Patrick’s Parade. The sheer lunacy of chasing down candy, shouting to men in kilts and stalking Hibernians for a hug usually burns a few calories.

I may end up owing my new swimsuit-ready waistline to Jay Cardosi, whose severe weather warnings in March will keep me running between my second floor dwelling and the requisite beer and laundry routine in the basement.

A few friends shared their thoughts on when they know spring is on the verge:
When The Grand Marshal for the Pegasus Parade is announced;
When we show up on national weather maps;
When you start hearing Carl Casper Auto Show commercials;
When the snot is flowing freely;
When the Lenten rose blooms ...

So, hold on to your Fleur de Lis, neighbors, we’re almost there. Until then, bask in the final days of no mosquitoes, try to avoid stripping off too many clothes to run in the park when the temps push past 60, and remember that you get one chance to be Irish, no matter who you are.

Cindy Lamb’s vocations of journalism, child birth and child care keep the lights on and the stories flowing. Contact her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .