Heretofore, my recollections of previous events, I believe, have been somewhat misrepresented by the overshadowing of that most heinous of seasons....winter. True, we have had some good times; like the blizzard that successfully hid my scrap-metal b-list celebrity sculpture collection from prying eyes. However, on the whole, I find it hard to believe that winter and myself were such close companions. Need it ever have dared to censor me for placing my tongue against a multitude of metal objects; hygienic or otherwise? I say not!
Yet, let me not dwell on the injustice of winter's disapproval of my poor decision making process, but rather move on to the latest edition on my celestial best-seller list; Spring. In jubilation of this new season and the liberation that it offered from the communal bacteria of the indoors, I took to the streets for the annual exercise in coordination and humiliation; running. Happily, I pounded the pavement in my cross-trainers, like a meat mallet against the delicate organically grown fillet of the earth's crust. Joyfully, I increased my pace, like a broken racehorse, laboring under a Quixotically delusional and rather rotund jockey. But alas, tragically, I halted. Having just been passed by a geriatric speed walker, newly released from the BABKA outpatient clinic. My spirit died within me; could this be a fulfillment of the prophesy spoken to me as a young peep that I would find my downfall in my unusually lively, and completely unnecessary, propensity to engage in competition with the elderly? I propped my marshmallow cheek up from the dusky pavement for one last gaze at the victorious orthopedic shoes, zig-zagging away from my fallen countenance.
While I would pour out the carafe of my heart in shallow-felt emotion to Constance, alas she is unavailable while she and baby Norah complete their Mommy & Me correspondence course, in order to learn the harmonious indigenous language of the whale colonies of a lake in New Mexico. I fear baby Norah is excelling at this, just as I fear the day when the uprising of all whales will make this skill much more then the proclivities of the perennial Tiger-mother. Until then, I will continue in friendly acquaintance with Spring, as I do with all creatures... until it asks to crash on my couch, and never buys milk. But so is the changing of all life's seasons.
