Spring has Sprung

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 a fan.

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 Pennsylvanian rodents.

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 one.

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 teens.

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.