Alright spring, let me be very clear here. I am tired of cold winds, grey days, rain and sporadic flurries. I thought we had a deal about the whole seasons changing thing.
We agreed you can snow right up until March 31 (an arbitrary date, but a legitimate cut-off nonetheless). But as of April 1, you needed to smarten up, get warm, keep the sun out all day and make everything green.
I need flowers, spring. I need leaves on the trees. I need laundry on the line. I want to enjoy coffee on the deck. I like to spend hours watching the bizarre courting rituals of squirrels and birds – you know, for inspiration. I could afford a refresher in spring rituals of frisky flirting. I’m looking for something less subtle than, “are the kids home?” Squirrels in my neighbourhood are clearly getting some action. But you, spring, are killing my mojo.
Had you lived up to your end of the bargain, spring, I would have lived up to mine. I would have happily shaved my legs to get some sun on these pasty limbs. But you’ve left me in long pants, wool socks and a toque as of April 29, watching my son’s rugby game in the freezing snow. Brrr. Enough already. Bleakness is not becoming.
In fact, it’s off-putting. Last weekend, I was wearing a down-filled vest over layers of sweaters, fleece-lined pants with wool socks, and my all-weather boots, so I could watch the Carpenter do yard work. By “watch,” I mean supervise. Perhaps “support” is a better term.
I was standing there watching the Carpenter doing yard work with the intent to make constructive yet supportive suggestions. He totally appreciated it. I could tell by his silence as he walked back and forth with the wheelbarrow, filled with giant rocks and brush, loading and unloading.
He was quietly absorbing my awesome ideas and helpful solutions. I had a lot of them. The Carpenter is super lucky to have me.
Despite this truth, he happily spent all weekend outside of our house. All weekend. He looked a bit like the squirrels in the yard, moving stuff around, digging holes, planting and replanting.
Scaffolding went down and then went back up somewhere else. There was sawdust everywhere. He seemed to have a plan, which included never coming indoors, except to check sports scores. I’ve not seen him this happy in a long time. That makes one of us. Even the squirrels stopped to play with their mates – just sayin’.
I blame you, spring. This is all your fault. I hope you’re happy. Oh sure, I’ll have a nicely landscaped backyard with a beautiful fire pit area, a small vegetable garden and flowers galore before summer arrives (if it ever does), but the squirrels and birds are the ones having all the fun. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And I’ve about had it.
All will be forgiven, spring, if you bring me warmth, sunshine and the ability to wear flip flops this weekend. That’s all I ask. And don’t worry about the frisky flirting. I have a plan. I’m going to help the Carpenter with the yard work. It will make his day to do yard work together. That Carpenter is super lucky to have me. (I’m kidding, but it will be worth it to watch his face as he reads that line).
