Season’s Greetings! The vernal equinox, the clocks forward, the buds on the trees and the daffodils flattened a bit by heavy rain and winds, confirm that nature and the calendar have provided the shake-up wake-up call to spring into action.
On 25th March 2020 my second attempt at a blog post had the title It’s Spring Again. Rather optimistically I wrote
I hesitate to say “unprecedented times” because those words are losing impact from over-use, but if we remember that while all this is or is not happening, leaves are in bud and the grass keeps on growing. The yellow is already on the broom and it will soon be time for the pink blossom. What a spectacle those trees, dotted everywhere about the city, in long avenues in many areas, make for us in spring. The petal blizzard if the wind blows is a bonny sight. When I take my legally sanctioned one period of exercise, I will walk with a spring in my step along the road, scattering handfuls of the pink confetti. If someone questions from the regulated distance I will adopt a dotty vulnerable elderly pose as I skip by, with the reassurance that when the time comes to be kicking up the ankle deep golden leaves, this palaver will be over.
The seasons have come and gone, and it is spring again. The pandemic wasn’t over by then, or now, but how much more positive we can be that by autumn this year things will be better for everybody. What a difference the lighter evenings and a light at the end of the tunnel make.
I do have a little niggling concern that some folk will go mad once the restrictions are lifted a bit. The virus has not gone and not everyone in this country, far less in the world will be fortunate enough to be vaccinated Spring fever can be defined as a rapid yet unpredictable fluctuating mood and energy state that contrasts with the relative low of the winter months. Add to that the pent up frustrations of the past year and well …. My Granny would be telling us, as a caution against recklessness, that “Ye need tae ca’ canny.”.
That same Granny has passed on the spring cleaning gene. Do any of you follow the old fashioned spring clean ritual? I do. It’s my way of dusting off the gloom of the winter months, and provides a legitimate reason to throw out the Christmas poinsettia, in spite of its determination to remain bright and healthy. I have a well practised formula, easily followed, ending in a wonderful sense of satisfaction. But, and there’s always a but, until that goal is achieved, there is the self-recrimination for not having cleared out the collection of whatever is tucked under or in behind. It is still there instead of finding its way to a charity shop or the tip. Of course it all goes back in place but now dust free. If I drop dead unexpectedly I will feel no embarrassment and there will be no legacy of wee lucky spiders!
The warm jerseys are packed away and the thermal vests which have seen better days have been redeployed as soft cloths for polishing the brasses. All very therapeutic without having to pay for a consultation.
This time last year we were enjoying glorious weather while trying to adjust to what was expected of us, without any idea of what to expect. Wasn’t it just as well we didn’t know what lay ahead? This year it feels different. Those of us less than comfortable being labelled vulnerable because of age have benefitted from a place near the front of the vaccination queue. There is a real prospect of visiting family and friends in some way before too long.
Some people will have firm plans in place and others will be more tentative about filling the diary with definates. My Granny would be saying “Once bitten, twice shy”. Maybe a flexible approach to go with the flow might lead to less disappointment if the data alter the dates. The decision to go carefully doesn’t suppress the growing excitement. My priority for what I want to do first is as changeable as the weather. There is a long list of people, places and simple pleasures to look forward to.
Spring is sprung, the grass is riz.
Is the end in sight? Let’s hope it is.
If good sense prevails and the rules are heeded
Hunkerin’ doon will not be needed.
This dot com is mine for another year
So the last of me yet you’ve still to hear.
Hunkerin’ doon – that thought’s obsoid!
The wings will be flappin’ on this old boid.
Hashtag – Oot’n’aboot!