The only decent way I can think of whiling away the long days of February are by gettin’ on up off my butt and getting active. These gray days are a bit of a bummer, I know, but the lure of the fun I could be having with the “younguns” are a strong argument against moping.

Best thing to do is to plan something while you’re feeling your best — when you’ve got a kick in your step, grab your computer, and create an event on Facebook and hit “Invite.” This is your insurance that you’ll actually do what you say you are going to do. Now you’ve got 25 people coming.

Last week, I did just that and hosted a game of street hockey for anyone I could think of who has kids and might not be working on the PD day. My son had been aching to play hockey — I mean, really play.

And since I hadn’t signed him up for that this year (we opted for swimming and drums instead), I decided to nurture his love of the sport by playing it with him myself.

And it’s fun! Gal Darn — those parents, they’re just as feisty as the kids, which is great, because who wants a tame game of hockey? Certainly not the kids. Certainly not I.

So, there we all were, all 30 of us, some of us lining the sidewalks, waiting our turn, refereeing, chatting, coddling, sipping, shouting, the others rushing the green ball with a fury.

Then: “CAR,” and we’d shuffle to the side, and the driver would pass by approvingly. “GAME ON,” and we’d all shuffle back onto the road and resume the slashing, pushing, struggling, and negotiating.

Two hours, we played. My son was in his glory, screaming out his lungs onto the street and into our ears. His cheeks were redder than I’d ever seen them. And there were some very interesting new expressions on the faces of some of my dearest friends — deep-lined hockey grimaces akin to The Rocket’s.

I see them in a whole new light now, and am wary. I’ll think twice before coming by for a cup of sugar.

This whole shebang went down in front of our friends’ house. Angela was nine months pregnant and hadn’t slept a wink the night before, yet there she was, all-aglow and making us coffee.

Then the most beautiful thing happened. That night, she had her baby, a day before her planned C-section. Naturally and everything. I totally chalk it up to the thrill of the game and the mouthfuls of fresh air. There’s not a doubt in my mind.

So next time you’re all mopey and thinking that spring will never come, plan a game of something. Or go sliding. Skating? Swimming is good, too. Who knows what miracle will arise from it.

Anne Boulton is an avid gardener who lives in Sudbury. Contact her at greenbootsinthegarden@gmail.com or visit her blog at boultonanne.typepad.com/greenboots.

Posted by Vivian Scinto