This mini-season of unlocking can be tricky here in the Midwest. The temptation to open glass surfaces as far as possible is strong. The rewards can be great. Tantalizing aromas of other people's dinner preparations. Yum. Someday I will figure out all the spice-meat-potato combinations and duplicate them for myself. Or I may simply go door to door clutching a fork and spoon and begging for a taste.
The giddy sounds of the Kid Parade every weekday afternoon. Boys have shed their parkas for hoodies alone. One young chap has actually shed his shoes! Yup! Walks home in his stocking feet. These children seem very good natured. I've never witnessed a fight or teasing or bullying of any kind. And, this delights me, they all look both ways before crossing the street. I guess at least one of those early parental lessons has stuck. No girls in flip flops yet, however. Dancing Daughter informs me that's the only sure proof of springtime.
Breezy breezes. Not the howling shrieks through every uncaulked crack endured the past months, but rather lilting, drifty, pleasant air movements that waft. Damp evergreen and muddy earth fragrance. Even faithful Cigarette Man having his 3pm smoke is a welcome addition. The trees haven't been bamboozled; there are no buds yet.
And then there is, of course, the one sour note. A new dog has moved in somewhere upstairs. This dog is left alone for hours and hours every single day. It is loud. It is obnoxious. It is unrelenting in its noise. I know it is only doing what dogs do. I don't care. Do you know what cranky old farts do when faced with a public nuisance? Even one with fur? We contemplate slitting its little throat; that's what we do. Then we can all enjoy this pretend respite from winter.
The giddy sounds of the Kid Parade every weekday afternoon. Boys have shed their parkas for hoodies alone. One young chap has actually shed his shoes! Yup! Walks home in his stocking feet. These children seem very good natured. I've never witnessed a fight or teasing or bullying of any kind. And, this delights me, they all look both ways before crossing the street. I guess at least one of those early parental lessons has stuck. No girls in flip flops yet, however. Dancing Daughter informs me that's the only sure proof of springtime.
Breezy breezes. Not the howling shrieks through every uncaulked crack endured the past months, but rather lilting, drifty, pleasant air movements that waft. Damp evergreen and muddy earth fragrance. Even faithful Cigarette Man having his 3pm smoke is a welcome addition. The trees haven't been bamboozled; there are no buds yet.
And then there is, of course, the one sour note. A new dog has moved in somewhere upstairs. This dog is left alone for hours and hours every single day. It is loud. It is obnoxious. It is unrelenting in its noise. I know it is only doing what dogs do. I don't care. Do you know what cranky old farts do when faced with a public nuisance? Even one with fur? We contemplate slitting its little throat; that's what we do. Then we can all enjoy this pretend respite from winter.
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