Oh Yeah, the Ides of March
The ides of March are upon us. Unlike Caesar, I know there are certain things one can expect as the middle of March descends.
There’s the nice things. The lovely flowers reclaiming their rightful place, reaching up from leftover piles of winter slush.
Yes, hopeful spring with its naive little blooms.
And we mustn’t forget the little birdies; they are singing.
Well, not so much singing perhaps as maliciously casing our joint —
I see you there Pal. And I remember you. I remember you from 2009. And I remember you from 2010. Oh, Mr. Woodpecker, you darling March memento.
You of the “early morning jack-hammering on the metallic parts of our chimney” woodpeckers.
You, of the “drive my husband to the brink of insanity and the edge of our roof” woodpeckers.
Ahh, springtime with it’s chipper birds and beautiful flowers.
But wait, there’s more. There are a couple of special things that ring out as harbingers of spring around our house.
Golly gee, there’s the storm-trooper Boot o’ Spring–
It’s my own subtle reminder that with another March comes the passing of another year, and with it yet another opportunity to immobilize the paper mache bones of my left foot.
And hey, you know what really says springtime? Innumerable hours spent inside sweaty high school gyms.
There’s the innocent scent of teen spirit.
The hum of hundreds of spinning ropes.
The blush of florescence on the faces of happy children.
And speaking of happy children, guess who’s had enough hanging around and watching big sister jump? Guess who has decided that sure, what the heck, she’s in, sign her up. . .
Look! It’s 7 year old Punky Jumpster, here in her practice debut —
Hey Caesar. Happy spring.