SASSY SPRING

It's raining!  Since it's still March (can I yell that to Mother Nature?  IT'S STILL MARCH!), and I repeat, since it's still March does that mean April Showers Bring May Flowers has started early?  Seems that way.  But then again we live in Indiana where any-weather goes!

On St. Patrick's Day we had sneaky snow.  I saw one flake but it didn't seem the weather for snow so I thought "ash from the chimney" or maybe "white silk from the dogwood tree" or even an aphid or whitefly, but never did I think snow.  That is, I didn't think snow until I looked at my silver truck which was covered in the white fluffy stuff!

SPRING!  I'm ready for SPRING!  Bring on SPRING!  SPRING, come to me!

Mary called last evening.  She said,  "I've bought tiger Lillies.  It's time for us to plant some bulbs."  Actually, we do this in remembrance of Mitch who passed away on St. Patty's Day.  So, today, I need to buy bulbs.  I was putting it off because of the rain...I mean snow, LOL.

What do you look forward to in the Spring?  The smell of hyacinths, so sweet, earthy, and pungent?  The sound of newborns, kids bleating on the farm, or mother birds chirping to the call of their young?  The feel of pussy willows or roses, soft and rough at the same time?  The taste of sassafras, much like a strong root beer or some root beer barrel candy?  

Ah, the sights and sounds of Spring, almost makes me bounce out of my seat to do a cartwheel!  NOT!  Never have I been able to do a cartwheel.  At this age, I'm lucky to bend at the hips without saying, "Ouch!"  

But, I can take a walk.  My foot is almost completely healed, thank the Good Lord.  And yesterday Calvin and I took a walk for a few blocks near his house while watching the neighbors white dog bounce and pounce behind his master who was heading to his little beige shed.  We saw true green daffodils poking their first buds out of the ground; they were stuck amongst the un-raked leaves left to decompose from autumn's fall.  And we heard the joyous voices of kids playing in the school's east playground. 

Then once we got to the town of Pendleton, we walked again -- all along Main Street. We checked out Three Monkeys, a child's clothes consignment shop.  Isn't that a fun name, Three Monkeys?  Makes ya think of rambunctiousness and shenanigans.  We passed Quack Daddy's Donut Shop (boo-hoo, sadness that we passed, I love donuts) to visit B'Dazzeled Boutique where we were on the hunt for a garment for daughter-in-law who's expecting again, our second grand baby, yay!  And finally reaching our walking destination Treasures Old and New, a large meandering shop full of antiques, artwork, old fashioned candy, and nostalgia.

Calvin had never seen candy cigarettes before, so he purchased some with which to tease his coworkers.  The store had rock candy on a stick, Buns in maple flavor, cow tales, and many vintage sweets.  

The sight of old candies takes me back to root beer, back to sassafras, back to spring.  Dad used to go into the woods in the spring then come back with pieces of sassafras root and then he'd boil it, offering up sassafras tea to all who came around.  After he passed, we found he had a great big piece of root, as big as a step stool, in the barn.  It's my own treasure of old.  I'm sure to break off some each year to boil for tea.  

Some year I'll share my old treasure with my new treasure, the future grand baby.  

We'll clip some redbuds for our hair and have a sassy tea party in the Spring!  After the rain, of course! 

"Slow, Nothing To Report!"

"I'm going back upstairs.  I can't take it," I'm laughing with tears in my eyes.

Let's back up.  I'll set the scene.

3:17 in the morning and I can't sleep.  Lights are off.  DH, darling hubby, is whirring.  He doesn't quite snore yet, and the night is silent, but he's quietly whirring.  So, I go downstairs, make a mug o' hot tea and turn on the computer to mindlessly play Candy Crush until the sweet black drink is gone.

Sitting in the veritable dark, it's not long until DH comes moseying down the stairs I'd just traversed.  Time for him to rustle around and get ready for work.

He's in that "morning fog".  Some people have it  (he, and several of my sons, and a good friend up north do, too) and some people don't.  I don't.  I don't understand it 'cause I don't experience it.  I just believe.  I've seen it in action.  Well, in non-action, chuckle.

Anyway. he turns on the news on channel 59 FoxTV.  I know this because the tv is now loudly telling me so.  I don't tolerate noise first thing of a morning and he doesn't tolerate light first thing of a morning.  Sadly, we don't mesh that way.  So, the announcer, to me, is yelling at me, commanding.

DH shuffles to the kitchen and makes a cup o' joe.  Excuse me here a minute while I take a last sip of my tea.

Anyway, the nice gentleman anchor on the screen says, (and friends, I don't quote verbatim, I do the best I can but don't expect perfection), he says, "We have a shooting on the East Side to report but we have little, if anything, to report at this time.  We are taking you to (beautiful attractive woman) a reporter who is right now on the scene."

Beautiful attractive woman reporter puts her lips to the microphone, the background is the dark of night, very appropriate for gloom and doom, and she says, "We are here on the East Side to bring you the latest development on a shooting here.  We don't know who has been shot.  They are taking the victim to the hospital at this time, we don't know to which hospital he was taken.  We don't know how many times he was shot.  And we don't know who did the shooting.  The police have bagged up his clothes and are investigating."

Okay, I'm thinking, so the police are doing their job, that's good, but she didn't really tell us much of anything.

And then ... (Lord, help me) she recaps!

"As I said, we are here on the East Side, don't know who was shot, or who did the shooting.  We don't know where the victim was shot, or where on his body he was shot.  But we do know there has definitely been a shooting."

What?????

Did she go outside, pull out a pistol, shoot into the air, then tell Mr. Anchorman, "We have a shooting on the East Side, but we don't know who was shot!"

Oh, my lands!  I'm busting a gut laughing.  And I'm laughing.  I'm not laughing at the poor man who was shot, I'm laughing at the silliness of reporting for 3 minutes of  "nothing."  NOTHING!  Cut it short, or wait until you know something.

I'm laughing at the inaneness of it all!  My night was pointless in the first place being up at 3 a.m. -- this just adds to the pointlessness of it all.  Chortle, the reporters just takes the cake!

Did you get that "nothing" was reported 3 times???????

So, I'm now upstairs, because I realize I forgot my reading glasses, and I go back downstairs to get them.

DH is still in a fog, TV is still blaring, it's still dark out, it's still quiet outside with no traffic on the highway to hear, yet I hear.  I hear Mr Anchorman say, "I just like the plain kind.  Ripples are my favorite."

Oh good golly Miss Molly, I'm laughing so hard I have to hold my stomach, they have so little to report they're now discussing potato chips!

Wait for it.

You have to hear what DH says, it's priceless, a piece of cake, the fitting end to my little interlude.

Like Eeyore of Winnie the Pooh, with a slow negative shake of his head, coming out of his fog a bit, DH murmurs,

"It's a slow news day they have nothing to report."