Sprung by Spring

Semester, my blind & belching tormentor at Little Town U, finally drop-kicked me out of the dungeon when it became apparent he couldn’t get another drop of blood from me. But no matter that I’m an anemic, jittery, puffball of my former self, having put on 50 malnutritive pounds from living on high-test java and Doritos dipped in peanut butter while sitting at the computer for 12 to 15-hour stretches. Never mind that I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since January, or that my language skills have been reduced to “Really, a sentence needs a subject AND a verb” and “Text me.”

None of this matters, because Uncannery Row is in its pre-summer splendor, and I can already feel the pink coming back into my cheeks. Today I planted seven hanging baskets with blue lobelia and red & purple petunias (the dark purple are the only petunias that smell, and they smell wonderful). Three hens are out in the tall grass somewhere, sitting on nests, so we’ll have peachicks in about a month. Spring rain is filling up the dog pond by the meditation tower, and the frogs are singing. In the greenhouse, the jasmine vine is blooming, filling the house with a perfume that I swear is a tranquilizer, and my mom bought us patio furniture for our anniversary.

So although I’m already teaching a four-week summer class, I have only eight students, and I can grade papers (eight only) outside under the umbrella, with a glass of wine, a couple of naughty dogs, a skulking barn cat or two, and curious meandering peafowl.

And tomorrow night, Ray’s band is playing in Little Town, so I will get these nearly-atrophied muscles back in shape and my sluggish peanutty blood thinned & moving again. It’ll be a night of fine music, the company of many, many wandering souls recently released from Semester’s cold & clammy grip, good dark beer (for the B vitamins, you know), and impromptu interpretive dance.

An 85-year-old Kentucky woman, Nadine Stair said, “If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.” Ditto. I’ve been holed-up long enough, and spring has finally sprung me. Tomorrow night, I’m gonna take off my shoes, drag my pasty self out onto the dance floor, and whirl like a merry-go-round.