April's popularity is waning
I've always found plenty of reasons to hate March. The main one: March Madness. I mean, really, who gives a poop? People who don't give a second thought about college sports for 11 months out of the year inexplicably become obsessed with basketball all of a sudden. And why is it that the women's teams scarcely get a mention?
The other reason to hate March? The weather. In these parts, spring doesn't arrive until April or May. So in March, we have the calendar telling us it's spring but looking at the piles of snirt outside . . . we know it's a filthy lie.
April, however, has never really done me wrong, generally speaking. The weather gets warmer, one starts to think of planting stuff and eating kettle corn at the farmers' market (maybe that last part is just me), and summer plans start to seem . . . not so far away. April and I have always had a good relationship. However, I woke up to a snowstorm this morning and now I'm not sure I'm such a fan after all. We may have to break up. I opened the back door at 5 a.m. to let the dogs out and all three of them looked at me as if to say, "WTF?" April has betrayed us all, pooches. The sun hath forsaken us.
On a more serious note . . . for me, I must confess that April lost some of its luster when Kevin died four years ago. I still think of him every single day. I have his Washington Post business card in my organizer and cannot bring myself to remove it. His email address is still in my Outlook address book. I miss that wise-cracking smart ass more than I can say.
C'mooooon, May! Where are you when we need you? I hope May is ready to kick some ass, as we'll have a lot going on next month. We've got a certain eight-year-old's birthday party, a visit from Grandpa Ted (flying in from Maryland), a visit from my middle sister and my nephew, a 16th wedding anniversary, and a trip to Minnesota. My sister is coming to town to run a marathon. The marathon winds right through my neighborhood, so I'll just have to jog down to the corner and cheer her on as she runs by. I hope I don't get too winded.
If spring ever does come, the kid and I are ready. She's busy painting step stones and we have cups o'dirt all set to go.
The other reason to hate March? The weather. In these parts, spring doesn't arrive until April or May. So in March, we have the calendar telling us it's spring but looking at the piles of snirt outside . . . we know it's a filthy lie.
April, however, has never really done me wrong, generally speaking. The weather gets warmer, one starts to think of planting stuff and eating kettle corn at the farmers' market (maybe that last part is just me), and summer plans start to seem . . . not so far away. April and I have always had a good relationship. However, I woke up to a snowstorm this morning and now I'm not sure I'm such a fan after all. We may have to break up. I opened the back door at 5 a.m. to let the dogs out and all three of them looked at me as if to say, "WTF?" April has betrayed us all, pooches. The sun hath forsaken us.
On a more serious note . . . for me, I must confess that April lost some of its luster when Kevin died four years ago. I still think of him every single day. I have his Washington Post business card in my organizer and cannot bring myself to remove it. His email address is still in my Outlook address book. I miss that wise-cracking smart ass more than I can say.
C'mooooon, May! Where are you when we need you? I hope May is ready to kick some ass, as we'll have a lot going on next month. We've got a certain eight-year-old's birthday party, a visit from Grandpa Ted (flying in from Maryland), a visit from my middle sister and my nephew, a 16th wedding anniversary, and a trip to Minnesota. My sister is coming to town to run a marathon. The marathon winds right through my neighborhood, so I'll just have to jog down to the corner and cheer her on as she runs by. I hope I don't get too winded.
If spring ever does come, the kid and I are ready. She's busy painting step stones and we have cups o'dirt all set to go.
Comments
I'm sorry that Kevin's passing put a bit of a damper on an otherwise beautiful month. Maybe now every time you a beautiful flower in bloom, you can remember him fondly?