An Appreciation
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Palm Sunday…

It snowed here yesterday…
It never used to snow around Palm Sunday when I was growing up.

Of course, I’m no longer living in the place where I grew up.
The place where I grew up has changed, and faded with time.
It’s changed literally, as the old neighborhood just ain’t what it used to be.
And figuratively, as memory sometimes tends to play fast and loose with reality.
I’m currently residing some 1000 miles north of that almost mystical place-holder of childhood memories.
Which, according to my Mother, might as well be somewhere in the astronomical neighborhood of Canis Minor, for all that I get home to visit her.

Canis Major and Minor
Image found here.

Connecticut… or Procyon (Alpha Canis Minoris)…
A thousand miles, or 11.46 light years (3.51 parsecs)…
It’s all the same to her…
Doesn’t she know how much gas costs these days?
And it doesn’t even matter to her in the least that Procyon is a binary system…

But I digress…

According to the most reliable sources of what the weather used to be like…
Also known as the “Back in My Day” method…
Alternatively known as the “You see that place over there? I remember when it used to be just an empty field. And before that it was a forest… Harrumph! ” School of History… I say…
Palm Sunday used to always be more than warm enough to spend the afternoon out on the bicycle, racing across open plots of land and through the woods.
Palm Sunday was always bright and sunny.
And warm… did I mention the warm part?

Taking a look at the latest temperatures on…
Which really should be called “We’re Doomed”… dot com…
I see that the temperature outside my window is a balmy 32º, fahrenheit.
And the temperature where I grew up, or there-abouts, is 43º.

Not exactly the best example of a “Mount up, cowboys, and bust out the shorts and a ratty old t-shirt, ’cause there’s some by-God a-ridin’ to do…” type of weather…
More of a “Ya know, there’s a perfectly good basketball game or two on the tube… and some golf. Ooh, look… lint!” kind of temperature.

It also seems, to my fabulous and oh, so very precise and never, never, ever, never wrong type o’ memory, that Easter has been coming earlier and earlier in the year – for quite a while now.
When I was growing up, Easter was always celebrated with fireworks and a brass band.
Because Easter always fell approximately 17.623456-09 hours before the 4th of July.
Back in my day, we tended to cram ’em all together, in a bunch, so as to get all of that pesky a-hoopin’ and a-hollerin’ out of the way.

You haven’t lived, until you’ve celebrated the holidays with a peppermint-flavored, candy-striped turkey, stuffed with chocolate and ham and black-eyed peas and pineapple and marshmallow peeps… and then braised in a rather nice extraction of the juices of pickles, Brussels Sprouts and lima beans… on February the 93rdth…

And now look at it.
That poor ol’ bunny ain’t a-hippin’ and a-hoppin’ around in order to get all those eggs delivered.
He’s a hip hip a hop and you don’t stop a rockin’ it all over the place… trying to get all that bang bang, the boogie to the boogie type Easter-type blood circulating.
Because it’s still pretty gosh-darn, ding-dang chilly out there.

But today is, at least, bright and sunny outside.
And for that, I am grateful.
Light is always good.
Warmth is good, as well…
But I guess that will have to wait just a wee bit longer.

Perhaps by Augusteenth the Umpety-fifth…


Featured image found here.



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