Spring stopped by the neighborhood this week

The snow is melting. 

You can hear water steadily trickling through the downspouts as temperatures warm from the deep freeze that set in this month. Highs touched 60-degrees on the stoop Wednesday afternoon. The snow that fell on Monday - on top of what we already had on the ground - isn't going to last much longer. 

Quite a change.

Spring seems to be knocking on my door. Before I know it, the daffodils will wake up, push themselves to the surface and unfold their yellow petals in the bright sunshine.

Ugh ... 

I'll miss the grey of winter. 

With apologies to the people of Texas, I like short days and cold, cozy evenings with a warm blanket in my lap while reclining in my favorite chair, watching a "Star Trek" episode I've already seen a gazillion times. There's something to be said for the warmth of the familiar, so long as the power stays on. 

From time to time, I dream of extending the winter season by moving to Canada. And when I was younger, I had a fascination with Alaska. I even applied for a few jobs there. They didn't work out for ... reasons, fate being among them, I think. I'm a West Virginia boy. My people have been here since the days of buckskins and flintlock rifles. If not fate, then maybe call it the pull of those who came before me. They keep me rooted.

If I didn't have to make a living making radio in Washington, D.C., I would move to Canaan Valley. I'm more likely to get a proper winter in the high mountains that have shaped my people for generations. It's the closest I can get to the climate of the north while remaining relatively close to kith and kin, but my dog walking wife likes where we live now - in West Virginia's Eastern Panhandle. We're within driving distance of the action in D.C. and Baltimore. And close enough to Broadway to make a day trip out of a show. Or we would be if the pandemic hadn't forced the theaters to close. Anyway, we're staying put, at least for the time being. 

Speaking of my wife and keeping things cold and unspoiled, her birthday is today and she's getting a new refrigerator as her major gift. 

What can I say. I'm a hopeless a romantic. 

The thing is, though, with our adult kids home for the pandemic, our current fridge is bursting at the seams. There's so much food packed in there, the door has to be opened ... gingerly, to keep it all from spilling off the shelves like those overstuffed closets that burst open in the movies. Mrs. Dog Walker is tired of it, so we're getting a bigger one for her birthday. 

A fridge may not be a shiny new car, but at least it will hold most of the food we keep on hand. The old one is going out to the garage. It can handle the overflow. 

Anyway, temperatures outside are supposed to cool back down after flirting with the 60 degree mark this week. That should make me happier. 

I acknowledge, however, that hope springs eternal. It's been tough since Covid-19 began circulating. So if spring must come, let hope not be far behind. 


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