Going Green

While I was stomping around whining about winter these last couple of weeks, I failed to notice something. A big something. Spring has started to arrive, and I’ve been stumbling over it like a blind woman. Little signs of new life are all around me, and I missed it until this past Tuesday. While I was walking the dog and waiting for him to PICK A SPOT TO POOP ALREADY IT’S THE SAME YARD YOU POOPED IN YESTERDAY AND THE DAY BEFORE, I noticed that the grass around the backyard path was greener. Noticeably greener. In fact, the whole yard was greener, so I took a second look around the yard and found all kinds of green things that made my flip flop lovin’ toes tingle. Like the blooms on the rose bushes. And the little shoots of tiger lilies.That odd little vine that shoots out of the fringe tree sprouted while I wasn’t looking.And so did the peony bushes. And grannie’s hydrangea.Those what-cha-ma-call-its that look like brussel sprouts are really sprouting.But so are the weeds. Man, do I need to clean out some flower beds. Oh, wait. I have a husband whose retired and can do that. Hula, make a note about that.
You’ve heard the phrase “Happy as a pig in Sunshine”? This little pig is happy in his bed of flowering weeds. And I almost got down in the dirt and rolled with him when I saw how many of these we had.As usual, the good Lord had answered a prayer for me and I was too busy wagging my tongue to notice. Surely, he won’t mind if I pretend not to notice the snow flurries that are dancing around all of that green stuff today.

The Evolution of Spring, Kentucky Style

On the second day of the week, the Lord made spring. 77 degrees and sunny. Hula ran in shorts and a t-shirt. And it was good. On the third day of the week, the Lord made winter…again. 35 degrees and a wee bit of sleet.Hula ran in full UnderArmor, gloves and a sock cap. And it was bad.On the fourth day of the week, the Lord made sinus medicine. Potent and tinged with acetaminophen.
Hula took it because her head felt like this. On the fifth day of the week Hula moved to Arizona. And it was good.

*Images courtesy of: oksenate.gov, maa.org, falk.com, ratemyfrown.com and willcountyema.org.

Running A Temperature

Holy moly! Sweet mother of Mabel! Check this out. Weather.com said our high temperature today was 71 stinkin’ degrees. Sweeeet. I ran outside today at lunch for the first time since before the ice storm…and wore shorts. Yes, shorts. And let me take just a moment to apologize to the people driving up and down our city streets at noon today for the pearly whiteness of my legs. The sun was peeking through the clouds and it was warm. I sweated like a thief in Sunday school. Great, big stinky drops and I loved it. I had to dodge only four piles of storm debris, and I had more energy than I’ve had in a while. I did startle two tourists in our downtown area when I rounded a corner and hollered, “Whoot!” at them. No wonder people are scared of southerners.

And guess what. Tomorrow? 76 degrees. Ha! This weather is a balm to my spirit. A salve to my soul. A boost to my droopy attitude. It tells me that spring WILL come after all. That winter’s end is drawing near, and flip-flop weather is soon to follow. And all those names I’ve been calling Mother Nature lately? I take them all back. I guess she’s not a total wench after all.

So Long Summer

I don’t like the day after Labor Day. It’s the unofficial end of summer. It makes me sad. Really, really sad. I mourn the end of summer the way some folks mourn the death of a pet or the end of an era. While everyone else is ready for cooler weather and a change of seasons, I’m bracing myself for the next six months. Six months without flip-flops. Six months without shorts. Goodbye homemade ice cream. Goodbye pool. So long to blinding sunshine and stunning sunsets. A reluctant hello to jackets, coats, gloves and unpredictable weather. I savor every minute of summer, so I hate to let it go. It’s a long distance love affair that leaves me longing for more.

Summer is a fierce mistress. She tickles us with her hot hands and shiny skies. We unashamedly bare our imperfect bodies, hoping for relief from her warm embrace. She’s fickle with her rain, sometimes giving us more than enough, but often teasing us with just a damp kiss. She’s attractive, strong and fast moving. By the time fall rolls around most folks are worn out from her demands and need a break. Not me. I hang on until she slips away in a rustle of smoky leaves.

I hate cool weather. I hate the time change and the shortened days it brings. The gray skies suck the energy right out of me. I stomp through wet, slushy streets with the temper of a two year old. Coats make me grumpy. So necessary and so annoying. The holidays help me to make it through December, but January, February and March are long, dreary months that never seem to end. Ninety days to endure until spring weather. Ninety days until the smell of warm dirt and wild onions work their way back into my days. Ninety days until a glimmer of summer’s return. Ninety l-o-n-g days until the love affair resumes.

Goodbye summer. I hope you’ll stick around a little longer. Another month would be nice, but I’ll take whatever I can get. I’d like to pretend that I won’t care when you’re gone…but I can’t. Honestly, it gets harder each year to say goodbye. I’ll see you in six to eight months. I’ll be right here, waiting patiently for your return…with my flip-flops…and my shorts. You won’t forget about me, will you? I’ll be thinking of you.