It's Spring

Off the Cuff

It’s Spring
(Would someone please just shoot me)

Spring comes early in Kentucky. While people in the northeast and west are still watching snow drift through the air, we here in Kentucky go to sleep listening to frogs sing their rich baritone songs of joy. The trees spring to life with shocking green buds, daffodils daff and crocuses croc (or whatever crocuses do). But all things nature leap or spring (hence the name I suppose) back into life.

Even the people seem to blossom. Men don short-sleeved golf shirts and freshly trimmed hair and the women deck themselves in bright, crisp frocks of various styles. They appear pristine from the hair salon and their open-toed shoes show off brightly painted toenails from a fresh pedicure. I however am not one of those women.

To begin with, I can never manage to wear the right clothes. I get up early and it’s chilly so I dress like Nanook of the North and by afternoon I’m sweating like Rumsfeld trying to explain his battle plan. Not to mention the fact that it is usually July before I remember where exactly I stored my summer garments. As for freshly coiffed hair, I’m lucky if I can find a barrette that the dog hasn’t chewed too badly to twist my tangled mess out of my face. And I do my own pedicures. Of course they usually end up looking like I've caught my toes in the lawn mower or that while the dog was chewing my sad looking sandals had a go at my feet as well. But all of this is minor when compared to the real problems of spring. Allergies!

All the blooming, budding and blossoming of spring wreak havoc on my pitiful carcass.
I awake every morning with the attractiveness of a plaque victim. Instead of a tussled loveliness there is a wretched woman with swollen eyes, draining sinuses and an irritable disposition staring back at me from the bathroom mirror. Two hours and two boxes of tissues later it’s not much better. I’ve tried every remedy known to man and modern medicine and short of investing thousands of dollars for a hermitically sealed room or sleeping with my head wrapped in a plastic bag nothing works. Modern medicine has failed me; but in spite of that, I have a plan.

I have decided to go straight to the source and commune with Mother Nature herself.
Perhaps I can summon her with a ritual during a full moon, there may be sacrifices involved but I have two other children. So maybe if all goes well we can just go from January to July and skip those months of anguish. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.
The next full moon is April 13; I’ll let you know what she says.

Heck if that works I’ll see what I can do about eliminating Mondays.