The sun is shining. The temperature finally hit 60 degrees, if even for an instant. Easter was Sunday, which, of course marked the unofficial beginning of white shoe season.
Except that I do not like
white shoes. I do not own any white shoes. I don’t think I have worn white shoes since
they were paired with a bonnet and made of patent leather.
No wait. I never had white patent
leather shoes. I did once long for a
pair of white patent leather shoes that had long white ribbons that tied around
the ankle, but I was informed by my mother that they were not nearly as
practical as the standard black patent leather shoes with the buckle.
So, they stayed propped in
the shoe store window. No wonder I am not
And, thankfully, it has
been years, decades since I wore a bonnet.
(And for those of you who
are still wondering what I wear when sporting the white cropped pants, the
answer is champagne. I do own a pair of
champagne colored sandals and yes, there is a difference.)
Spring is finally here, spring
by my calendar. I am not talking about
meteorological spring, or the vernal equinox.
And my date is thankfully unrelated to prognostications from misguided
It shall heretofore be
known as Kathy Spring.
I am not certain what causes
the page to flip on the seasonal calendar of my psyche, but I am sure that the
complex calculation involves the convergence of at least the following factors.
1. The number of hours of
bright sunlight must be inversely proportionate to the percentage of land mass
still covered in snow piles, dirty or otherwise, by a ratio of at least 40 to
2. The meteorologist must
not utter the word “accumulation” any time during the seven day forecast even
when preceded by the word “no.”
3. Daffodils and asparagus
must be featured as loss leaders in every grocery store ad.
4. The deck furniture begins
to call to me for rescue from the cocoon covers and retrieval from the huddle
under the deck.
5. I have actually
remembered to shave my legs without a somewhat pointed comment from my husband. Evidently, the number of years of our
marriage (almost 16) is inversely proportionate to the number of times I feel it
necessary to shave my legs during the winter months.
6. I spend several minutes
each morning in my closet, trancelike, frustrated at wardrobe that does not
include bright spring outfits appropriate for a day with a wind chill in the
Of course there are a
number of other contributing elements including whether or not I have tomato
seedlings under the grow lights in the basement, or have simply dreamt about it
again until it was too late in the season.
But, to be honest, this
year there was an extra catalyst. Late
last week I pulled into the driveway after work. A neighbor had delivered a stunning Easter
lily to the table on my front porch, which made me laugh because she positioned
it strategically inside the artificial wreath that somehow did not make it back
inside the storage bins with the Christmas lights and other decorations.
Spring is here and Kathy
Spring has finally arrived as well. It
is time for walks in the park, pizza made on the grill, and long lingering
conversations on the deck, huddled under a blanket against the evening chill.