Well, it’s spring. That hopeful time of year when you begin to see and smell and hear signs of life. When there’s a warm day and a coldish day and a warm day and a frosty night and rain and sun and rain again. But you don’t care about the rain and the chill because the END IS NEAR. The end of winter. The cats and the guinea pig are ecstatic. Especially the cats who forget there’s an indoors until the sun goes down and the wind picks up and they suddenly remember that abandoned bowl of food in the laundry room and the warm lap awaiting them. Pretty soon, they’ll stay out most of the time.
I also know it’s spring when the people in my house begin to complain about the lack of shorts and sandals in their wardrobes and how all the stuff from last year doesn’t fit. So, I’m shoveling money at that problem bit by bit. The good part about this is that we finally all wear the same the size shoe and sock. This is shocking but good because I think their feet have stopped growing. The bad part is that grown up shoes cost more than kid shoes. Oh well. You can’t stop progress.
I’m having weird dreams which might be attributed to the change of seasons. If not, I’m just going to pretend it is. The other morning, I dreamed that for whatever reason, I was instructed to go to a certain place and meet “Jim”. The place turned out to be a video arcade circa 1984 and “Jim” was actually an imaginary friend – someone I know in cyberspace but have not yet met in real life. This was a relief because I’d been worried “Jim” was going to turn out to be a drug dealer or something. I don’t remember why I’d been sent to him. He went through all my stuff and found a puzzle in my bag that he’d made me (in the dream, not in reality) and I knew he wanted to kiss me but I wouldn’t let him. He is married (in real life and dream life) and I don’t kiss married men in any reality.
So, instead of that, he showed me a commercial for thigh high satin sock/tights things that featured David Bowie from his Ziggy Stardust era. Jim had a pair and I tried them on. They were kind of awful but exactly what they sound like: satin thigh high tights or socks or something and could only have been produced in 1972 and could only have been hawked by Bowie. Or possibly a super glammed up David Johansen but not really, actually. Just Bowie. Only he could have pulled it off. The tv was set into the wall much like the tvs that showed clips of his videos and mime movies at his Chicago retrospective.
And then of course, I woke up. And it was a dark cold spring day and there was no back alley video arcade and no Jim and no Bowie thigh high satin socks on my floor.
But, there were chilly cats to let in and a beautiful sunrise that slowly emerged through the trees across the road (it showed up eventually; my hatred of DST never diminishes) and the hopeful green stalks of future daffodils sticking out of the brown leaf covered flower beds.
So, it’s all good and will only get better and this weekend’s agenda includes planting carrots, potatoes, radishes and lettuce. FINALLY.