I don’t need a calendar to tell me that it’s spring. I just have to look around my house to see the signs. These are more subtle than when you’re living somewhere truly frigid and the sight of green shoots bursting through the snow make you nearly swoon. No one here in Southern California will ever know true Spring Fever, since it’s green all year round. But, still, we have our signs.
Little purple blossoms appearing on my lawn mean my jacaranda tree will soon be in bloom, leaving its sticky remnants all over the sidewalk, lawn and anyone foolish enough to park underneath it. This is a good way to identify people who are new to life in Southern California, because they haven’t yet learned that those pretty periwinkle blooms will eat the paint off your car like a bucket of hydrochloric acid. If you’ve never tried to sweep them off a sidewalk, I recommend assigning this as a chore to a kid you don’t really like, because it’s one of the most frustrating tasks on earth.
I suddenly feel cold air coming out of my vents, so I go to check the thermostat. My young adult son turns on the air conditioner any time the temperature in our house rises above 72 degrees and, no, he doesn’t pay the electric bill. I bought one of those clear boxes you install over the thermostat to keep him from adjusting it without my permission, but I lost the little key you’re supposed to use to reset the combination lock and I forgot the instructions anyway. For awhile, he seemed to be fooled when I simply taped it shut, but he eventually figured this out.
Our cat, Boris, a long-haired Russian Blue that I adopted after he’d been abandoned, starts shedding. In winter, he grows the most luxuriant and beautiful silver-blue coat you could ever imagine on a creature of the feline persuasion. He’s splendid to look at. But now all that luxuriant coat is starting to come off. I have to brush him daily, and I usually collect enough hair to knit a small sweater. Luckily, he likes to be brushed.
Also luckily, our poodle mix Generic White Dog, Lil Wayne, doesn’t shed at all, but he does require me to shell out $70 at the groomer every six weeks. This is the first time I’ve ever owned a dog that doesn’t shed and I must say, I love it. Even if it costs me. My favorite canine breed in the world is a German Shepherd because they’re smart, beautiful and have great personalities. But, jeez louise, those animals shed their hair copiously everywhere. I’m too messy to add that to the equation.
My gardener knocks on my door and asks if I want to pay him a king’s ransom to fertilize my tiny front lawn. This always sets up an internal debate between my desire to have it done, versus the knowledge that I can go to the garden store, buy cheap bags of rotted steer manure and do it myself in 10 minutes. Yes, it’s a very tiny lawn. Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of this story.
Speaking of plants, I look over at the flowerbeds on the sunny side of my house and notice that they’re overgrown with weeds. This is where I plant my tomatoes every year when I’m not too lazy. They love the blazing sun all summer and give me lots of red gifts for what is, realistically, minimal effort. But I will have to dig out those weeds and fertilize the site. Oh, I’m going to play Scarlett O’Hara. I can’t think about that now. I’ll think about it tomorrow.
Some of my friends seem to spontaneously burst into bouts of spring cleaning, decluttering and hauling off their junk. This makes me wonder if it’s somehow built into homo sapiens DNA to want to do this in the spring. Not my DNA, you understand. I hardly ever burst into bouts of cleaning, and it’s only when I’ve invited six people over for dinner and I can’t see the top of my dining room table, because it’s covered with paid bills to be filed, things that need to be put away, a box that has to be returned to Amazon, an appliance manual that I got out to read and never refiled, pants that don’t fit that need to be returned, a tangerine that mysteriously appeared and crystals that I bought to hang on my chandelier but never quite got around to it.
I do feel a slight desire to clean up my deck and its comfy chairs and invite neighbors over for happy hour. But if I take a nap, I can make that feeling go away.
Do you ever have the urge to burst into song and sing that ditty from the musical “Carousel” — “June is busting out all over!” Me neither. It’s corny. I mean, it’s not even June yet, for one thing. But this time of year is better than June, because we haven’t sunk into June gloom yet, so it’s still sunny nearly every day, while keeping a near perfect temperature. We’ve all mostly gotten over the time change to Daylight Saving Time, so it’s pleasant to have the sun stick around until evening.
Do you have any particular signs of spring around your house? You can email me at mfisher@scng.com