Tuesday, March 7, 2017
When Spring Isn't
I know, I know: It's not officially spring yet. Not for a couple of weeks yet. But still ... every now and then it's been feeling like spring. Warm. Sunny. (We even had a tornado warning last week!) Even some of the plants have been saying, Hey, what the heck! Let's go for it!
Our day lilies are coming up, poking their pointy little heads through the topsoil to look around to see if it's safe. It's not. But lilies are easily fooled--as tiny children are. They'll get a few rude surprises before it's truly safe for them.
When I was a baseball-loving kid, I used to hate false spring--the same as false hopes in my book. In junior high, I remember sitting in study hall at the old Hiram School; the windows faced the west, and I could see my sunny days sometimes (often?) change into darkness (and teen despair) as the afternoon wore on. Meaning: I had to sit in this dumb school while the weather's nice, and as soon as it's time to get out of school (and play baseball!), here come the dumb clouds and rain (and snow?) to screw it all up!
At Hiram College one of my years there (1962-66), we had to postpone one of our tennis matches on May 1 because of snow and sleet!
Later on--a young father--I loved to take our little Steve outside in the (false) spring. A stroller ride around the block (okay--down to Friendly's Ice Cream in Kent), a little bit of wiffle ball in the front yard. (Steve called it "BAH-bah.")
And then, when the spring darkness fell--when the spring reminded us that it really wasn't spring--we had to stay inside and play Candy Land for the gazillionth time or Bigfoot (which we both kind of liked)--or watch Sesame Street (I kind of liked that) or Mr. Rogers (neither Steve nor I particularly cared for that one--sorry). Or waited for Mom to get home from the store--or class--or the cleaners--or wherever: She would have much better ideas about what to do--and still does.
I haven't matured. I still grumble and grouse when the weather fails to behave in the way I want it to. When I was a kid, my mom would listen to a bit of this, then say, Danny, the weather isn't personal.
Oh yes it is, Mom. Oh yes it is!