April Fools

My dad, Willis, was a big fan of April Fool’s Day jokes, much to my consternation. His idea of a joke and my idea of a joke were very different. He loved to prank, and I loved not to be the butt of the joke.

One of his best April Fool’s pranks he cruelly sprung on me early one April Sunday. I was peacefully sleeping away---as one tends to do early on a Sunday morning, especially if the one in question is a teenager—when I was called abruptly back to earth by the sound of my dad calling my name. He called my name, said that my (redacted) (redacted) (redacted) horse was out, and added a few more colorful phrases about the wicked wiliness of my mare, and then observed that she was out on the road.

That last bit stirred me to action and I scrambled out of bed, felt around on the floor for some blue jeans---yes, I often kept my previously used wardrobe on the floor of my room. What can I say? I was the classic teenaged slob---and hopped out to the kitchen still pulling on my socks.

Me and Taquita Ree, circa 1977

Where? I asked, squinting out the window, trying to locate the sorrel-colored blob that would tell me which direction I needed to head in to retrieve my wayward horse, shoving my feet into boots and hoping I wouldn’t need to stop and take precious time putting in my contacts. Even with my lousy vision I was pretty sure I could locate a horse-sized blob, if someone would just point me in the right direction.

It was about the time I was struggling into my jacket that I noticed Willis’ swearing was starting to sound a lot more like giggling. “April Fool’s!” he crowed, gleefully, “Gotcha!”

Ah. Yes. He did. What better way to prank your teenage daughter than to cause her to get up at dawn?

Well played, Willis. Well played.

Weather Talk 2.0

Did you see the sun the other day? It was glorious. There’s nothing like getting a taste of good weather to make me want more of it. The minute the sun comes out in the spring all I want to do is go outside and play. Fortunately for me, there are plenty of outside chores for me to do.

The ridiculous amounts of snow my landscaping received have sculpted my hedge into pancakes and attempted to turn some of my trees into poles. The result of all that is I have a plethora of branches awaiting removal to the burn pile.

Is there anything better than cleaning up winter debris and then getting to set it on fire? Except maybe getting to poke the resulting fire with a stick? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do early spring than work all day and then set fire to my labors as the day chills. And if there is a hot dog, a roasting stick and a few marshmallows hanging around, so much the better!

Because I’m a grown-up---or at least a reasonable facsimile of one—I feel honor bound right now to make a general statement regarding fire safety, country burn regulations, wind conditions and neighborhood relations. Please take all of these things into consideration before torching off your burn pile. Because, if your neighbors are taking advantage of the sunny day to dry their laundry on the line, they’d probably appreciate it smelling like “Spring” and not “Camping.” Or so I’ve heard.

I personally think “campfire” is a lovely scent, one of my favorites. Especially if it carries just a hint of marshmallow, with perhaps a top note of tent and summer nights...but some people have no taste when it comes to appreciating the finer things in life. So I try to stay downwind and not judge. More marshmallows for me!

Spring Ahead

Last weekend we turned the clocks ahead one hour in a barbaric ritual known as Sleep Sacrifice to the Sun God--- because of the constitutional requirement of separation of Church and State-- you might know it as “Daylight Savings Time.”

Now I know there are probably some proud Barbarians out there that will happily make the hour sacrifice with scarcely a murmur, but I am not one of them. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the “extra” daylight—I do-- but I’m pretty sure you don’t have to make me GET UP EARLIER TO LOOK AT IT.  I promise to look at the sun---or what passes for “sun” this time of year—at a more civilized hour. Actually, I was thinking noon would be the perfect time to rise. That way I can appreciate the sun at its zenith. That seems a reasonable plan.

Alas, such a thing is not to be. No matter how I try to resist acclimating to the barbarous time change I am forced to adapt. Society insists on strict adherence to the earlier start, so unless I’m willing to show up an hour late everywhere I go, I have to conform.

I am, at best, a Reluctant Adaptor. And regardless of the laws separating Church and State, Reluctant Adaptors are treated as heretics. Or sloths. Or worse---People Who Don’t Know How to Change the Clock in Their Car—PWDKHCCC for short. (Short-ish.)

Let me be perfectly CLEAR: I DO know how to change the clock in my car. I do. I just don’t want to. And before you can start poking holes in my assertion - let me distract you with an additional argument: I have far too many clocks in my house---15. What can I say, I like clocks--- to be forced to adapt to changing them all. I’ll lose far more than an hour, I can promise you that. So in order to SAVE time---which is the whole philosophy behind the reset, right?---I refuse to waste it remembering how to reset my car clock just to prove I’m not a PWDKHCCC.

Stop being so judgey.

Uncle

Ok weather, you win.

(There's the gate, where's the Garden?)

I’ve tried complaining about you. That hasn’t worked. Oh, sure, while there is a certain satisfaction to be gained from a good kvetch, over time it loses its cathartic properties and just becomes “same song, second verse,” yada, yada, yada, yawn.

I’ve tried ignoring you. Don’t give the snow any attention and it will get bored by non-attention and wander off. Right. That works so well. NOT.

Some people, in what I hope is an attempt to cheer me up---no matter how misguided the approach---will tell me “Don’t worry, it’s still Winter after all. It’s not Spring for X amount of days!” I, of course, take offense to that approach for several reasons. 1) This time of year is NOT winter. It is Early Spring, Spring’s Pre-Season. Time for the weather to practice getting its Spring on. And everyone knows you warm up for Spring BY WARMING UP. Stop snowing already! And 2) don’t use X as a stand in for numbers when you know full well I’ve had to kiss and make up with Math and now can’t even make a math hating joke to cheer myself up. That’s just cruel. No--- it’s cold.  

Sacrifice to the god of Winter

I’ve tried using homemade pagan rituals against you. In a fit of pique one day I took my left-over Christmas Poinsettias and stuck them out in the snow, hoping their demise would appease the god of Winter---who shall remain nameless because I didn’t pay attention in Mythology class, although I do remember Persephone is the goddess of Spring and was in need of a good restraining order six months of the year.

Where was I?

Anger? Check. Denial? Check. Bargaining? Check.

That brings me to my last line of defense---Acceptance. Ok, weather, you win. Look how pretty the snow is, so clean, and white and fluffy! No grass to mow, no flowers to water! “I love my comfy sweater, how cute are these boots?” (I think I stole that last line from an old Gap commercial, I don’t know, I have cabin fever, it’s not my fault, I’ve overdosed on hot chocolate.)

Uncle, already weather. 

I. 

Give. 

Up.

Note to Self

Welcome to March, the Official Month of Spring. You may not remember Spring, but I hear that it’s this wonderful season of color and blooms; green grass, delicate pink blossoms, yellow bursts of dandelions. The sun is rumored to come out, its warmth causing leaves to unfurl and winter gear to be packed away. In Spring, THE SNOW STOPS FALLING.

That’s right, I said it---two four-letter “S” words back to back—SNOW and STOP. Hold on to your hats because I’m about to use a whole lot of other “S” words.

In Spring, when the snow stops you can put away the shovels and the sidewalk salt---Spring is more the season for sidewalk chalk.

Objects in photo not to scale

In Spring, you no longer have to grab a broom and trudge out to your satellite dish to sweep it clear of snow and ice, remembering only AFTER you’ve climbed the ladder that putting the ladder directly UNDER the satellite will garner you a face full of said snow. The snow had been so deep from previous snow falls that I could climb up on a snow bank and reach the dish, all the while keeping clear of the cascading result of my labors. SIGH. I’ll admit that I was annoyed enough by the latest snow fall that I didn’t even move when the satellite snow started falling in my face---I just kept sweeping...and, perhaps, swearing...stupid dang snow anyway!

In Spring, driving becomes a lot more fun---a lot less “exciting” perhaps, but certainly more enjoyable. Less slipping, less sliding, less squeezing of the steering wheel.

So let’s recap: Spring equals less shoveling, more sidewalk. More sun, less slipping. It is possible that Spring is less entertaining for my neighbors. After all, there’s less opportunity for me to get stuck in my driveway, fall on my fanny, spray myself in the face with hot pink spray paint, and give myself a facewash with satellite snow---a great percentage of these activities accomplished while wearing a bathrobe--Spring also equals less side show.

SWELL!