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Who isn’t looking out the windows lately? It’s not just the merchants who are scanning the skies for signs of spring, it’s all of us. I guess they do it so they can tie their promotions to the next card-buying opportunity that’s set to break over us. The rest of us do it so we can be ready to throw off the dowdy feathers of winter coats and walk around outdoors for a bit in our shirtsleeves.
As far as the seasonal merchandise goes, I can bypass the rows of bright plastic eggs and Easter basket grass no problem. I have a cellar full of such stuff. I can bypass the cardboard Pots o’ Gold and the leprechaun hats too. In fact, I’ve grown so resistant to the jingoism of St. Patrick’s Day that I sometimes ‘forget’ to wear green on the 17th, though all my family on both sides hail from that Emerald Isle. You know what I mean: this stuff:
So those things are easy to do. What I can’t seem to do is stop running outdoors, because outdoors things sure are getting lively.
Later, back in my own town, I stop at the post office to pick up my mail. There I find a package of home-made biscotti from a reader in Maine, a letter addressed to “Box Holder,” which acts as a bracing reminder that the world will keep turning long after I stop renting space in it; and, a handwritten note.
“Your newsy bits about life help make my day, so here is your pat on the back,” says the note.
“Excuse my spelling. I’m 89 years young and get up every morning.”
There is no signature and no way to respond – unless I respond by doing so here.
A toast then to the 89-year-old and the biscotti-maker both!
