Monthly Archives: March 2008

This week is spring break and the neighborhood seems to have migrated en masse to distant sunny places like Fort Myers or Jacksonville or Mexico where they’ll wear shorts and crane their sunscreen-slathered necks and try to catch a glimpse of summer. They’ll drink ice-cold beer outside with a bare hand and sit on a bench in a teebox and wait for their turn to slice another $4 ball deep into the thick stuff. Or maybe just read by the pool. Either way, they’re getting away.
We stayed home. With our feet on the ground and our necks uncraned. Transitioning. Begging for robins and rebirth. Because this winter won’t end. The kids ask why it’s light out so late into the evening and we try to teach them how the days get longer in the spring and they say “what’s spring?” and we confess we’re not sure anymore ourselves. And we mope. And sit. And try to come to terms. And we have another fire in the fireplace and read another section of the paper and stare longingly at the porch we’ve taken to calling a “1 season”.
But then on Sunday the clouds opened and the sun shone down and the grass seemed to green-up overnight. And we poked our heads out and looked for our shadows, afraid that it was yet another false start. But it wasn’t. It was spring incarnate. And we took long walks and broke the winter seal on the shed and got out the gardening tools and lined them up and talked about all the things that we’d soon be doing with them. And we pulled out the scooter and it started with no trouble at all – almost suspiciously so, bordering on impatient even, as if it knew it was 50-degrees out and the puddles were dry and the parkways were begging for the attention that only a friendly powder-blue scooter can provide. Meep. Meep.
And now it comes crashing back down in a heavy white rage. The type of snow they advise you to warm-up before shoveling because if you’re not careful it can kill you. And that’s not a joke. It can. If not your very being, for sure your spirit. And you put on your coat. And you pick up your shovel. And you prepare to come to terms. Again.
But this time it’s different. It’s a last hurrah. A celebration. Of the transition. And we all know it. And we smile as we trudge thru the sloppy streets, taking cellphone pictures to send to our friends on their teeboxes. And the kids rush to play. And it stays light so late these days. And the wind isn’t that cold. You can stay outside forever. And the snowmance is back. If only for a day. It better be a day. I’m supposed to be gardening next week. Seriously.

I hit this beauty late the other night and it almost blew-up the suspension on the jeep. The jeep! I know! Kaboom! WTF!
I went back the next day to take a picture and discovered it wasn’t technically a pothole, it’s just one of those rectangles they cut out of the street to fix a plumbing problem. Like when someone’s mainline crumbles or whatever. It happened to my neighbor once. Like $1500. Ouch. Anyway, because it was [probably] winter when it happened, the repair crew fills the hole with gravel instead of actually patching it. Because they can’t actually patch it? Because it’s winter? Who knows. Either way, it’s spring now and the gravel is gone, leaving only a huge alignment-jarring hole. Sunuva!
So yeah, maybe it’s not a real pothole, but it’s still a force to be reckoned with. So watch out. And next week I’ll try and have a legit one. Or maybe this idea dies after one week? We’ll see.