Plodding and Stomping Toward Spring

The clocks are set forward and my sleep schedule is skewed.  The delight of coming home to hours of sunlight will not have me springing forward into my day.  I will be staying up too late for the next week and then feeling morose when the sunbeam that had finally started coming in my window to wake me delays its entrance until I’ve left the house.  Sigh.

But springtime is a time of optimism.  After the week of the no show snow-quester, the balmy weather this weekend was exhilarating.  It was a good weekend for getting outside.  If I hadn’t been conserving energy for an overnighter with our toddler granddaughter, I would have attacked the yard. Still, even with little Emily en route to our house, I couldn’t resist pulling out the rake and at least poking around the gardens.

The daffodils are popping up so I was sure I’d unrake some Spring.  I was on a search for chives.  Even though I need to replenish them this year, I’m still on the lookout for the first sprigs for my eggs.  Nothing yet.  They really don’t peek until St. Patrick’s Day, another week from now.  I raked their bed anyway.

Crocus.  If the daffodils are popping, shouldn’t the crocus be hiding under the leaves?   I raked the crocus/black-eyed susan bed and found nothing but dirt and some mole trails.  ACK!  Moles!!!  I thought that bed was safe because it is surrounded  by sidewalk.  Errrrgg.  Now I don’t know if they have totally destroyed the bed or if I’m just peeking early than usual because of the early daylight savings time and a balmy weekend.  It’s not officially spring yet.  The susans should not be up yet anyway, but have the moles destroyed the crocus?

In the fall, a colleague of mine gave me a mole “device.”  If I call it a mole killer, someone will get weepy over the poor little critters.  So I won’t call it a mole killer.  It’s a “device” for dealing with moles.  I will say, though, that the “device” looks like it was invented by Edward Scissorhands.  When I brought it home from school (It never entered the school, by the way.  We transferred the “device” to my car in the parking lot, although it could have been a very effective class management tool.)…anyway, I gave it very carefully to my husband who was ready to nonchalantly toss it into the outer mudroom.

Some people don’t know we have an “outer mudroom.”  They’ve seen the mudroom and thought that was bad enough.  The “outer mudroom” is the room beyond the mudroom door.  It is supposed to be the place to put the stuff that people who have garages store where the car is supposed to go.  Are you with me?  Because I’m getting lost–which is what happens to anything that goes into the “outer mudroom.”

John was about to toss the mole “device” into the outer mudroom when I started “talking” to him:

“You can’t throw that thing in there!!! It will cut someone’s hand off!”

So he put it in a  box.  And tossed the box into the outer mudroom.  I would not be able to find it today if my life depended on it.  He will claim that he knows exactly where it is.  But in case he doesn’t and something should happen to my husband and me, I’m hereby alerting dear grown children who would have to go through our possessions that there is a mole “device” in a box in the mudroom.  Somewhere.

We have another ten days until the official start of Spring.  Ten days for the crocus and chives to present themselves.  While I wait, I’ll stomp on mole trails and try to get Someone to activate a critter management plan.

Where’s the @#$% ice scraper?

Trick or treat?  Snow for Halloween is quirky cool.  The juxtaposition of vibrant leaves with snowy groundcover is a good photo op.  But, really, I’m not ready to deal with the morning exit routine.

Sunday morning, I’m all ready for church, attired in appropriately autumnal colors.  I’m even reasonably on time.  Before dashing out the door I remember that today’s high will be around 40, so I throw on a coat.  First dose of reality, snow on the step.  No big deal.  Snow all over the car.  Not too much snow, no big deal.  But then I can’t find the snowscraper.  Why oh why oh why do I go through this every year?  I never take the snowscraper out of the car.  I might move it from the  back seat to the trunk in about June, but I don’t remove it from the car.  My dear husband moves it  when he loads the car for the annual week at the beach.   (Yes, this is all his fault.)  And, of course, in August no one (that would be me) thinks to put it back in the car.

So here it is, Sunday October 30, and all I have in the car is a little hand scraper.  The search begins.  I know it must be in the mudroom because that’s where everything gets thrown.  And herein lies the problem.  Everything gets thrown in the mudroom.  If you’ve been to our house any day of the year except Thanksgiving, you know what the mudroom looks like…twenty pairs of shoes in various sizes, beekeeping equipment, hunting gear, a crossbow, dead plants, boxes of IBM equipment, dirty gardening gloves…you get the idea.  And somewhere in the accumulation is an ice scraper.

After screaming at the top of my lungs (you can do things like that when you live way out in the woods), I calm down and scan the mudroom.  The dusty icescraper lies just behind the pile of shoes.  Fine.  I’ll scrape the car and be on my way.  Ten minutes late is about normal for me.

But no.  Why would this be simple?  The mere two inches of snow on the car has hardened into a solid chunk.  I hack at the windshield and get that clear, but the roof is a solid sheet of frozen ammunition.  I am not one of those people who drive down 83 shooting ice bombs from the roof of my car. With the sun shining, it’s a sure bet that my sheet of ice would fly off at 65 miles an hour.  Plus, I am now half an hour late for church.  Really, why bother?

Back in the house I stomp.  Upstairs I march.  Off come the church clothes.  On go the sweats.  Well, at least I have an outfit ready for tomorrow.