Easy Street
Hello World,
Play ball! As far as I'm concerned, any week that includes Opening Day is automatically a good week, and life is worth living again, just by virtue of that. Just seeing the teams come north, and back in their own ballparks again, in front of the hometown faithful, is enough to dispel the gloom of winter and face the new season bright with promise. Everything starts over fresh, and last season - good or bad - is just a fading memory that has lost its power to either amaze or confound. It may still be pretty chilly in some of the baseball cities around the country, but when the Boys of Summer are back in town, we all have reasons to hope for better days ahead, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jack, by golly.
Speaking of better days ahead, it's easy to see that Spring has really sprung in the local area, with the early flowering trees putting on quite a show from one end of town to the other, and just about everywhere in between. It's too early for dogwoods, but the neighbor's magnolia is open, and everywhere you go, there are early pink and white explosions of cherry or crab apple or what-have-you, to cheer the winter-weary soul and delight the downcast. As if that weren't enough, the Spring flowers are outdoing themselves in colorful profusion, with a riot of daffodils, hyacinths, anemones and even tulips, all decked out in their seasonal finery, and brightening up even the deepest recesses of garden, lawn or walkway. Our inaptly-named Glory of the Snow finally opened (when it was 80 degrees, thanks not) and even our grape hyacinth, although it seems way too early for that. Everywhere you look, it's a rainbow-hued tonic to chase the winter doldrums, and even with your eyes closed, the Spring birds are singing up a storm to entertain and encourage. It's times like this when I realize that it's the invigorating rebirth of Spring that makes Winter endurable, and if Spring didn't exist, someone would have to invent it.
In other weather news, I can't say that I've seen any dandelions yet, although I don't doubt that they've already started to poke their sunny yellow heads above ground in the more exposed locations. Also slithering in unnoticed so far, I expect that our abundance of rampant alien mutant poison ivy is just lurking in the shadows, waiting for its opportunity to ensnare the unwary in its menacing tendrils, and standing straight up like some freak of nature, instead of creeping subordinately along the ground like it's supposed to. But I will say that I've already seen one harbinger of Summer that was as welcome as a warm breeze, and that was a returning ornamental from last year, even though it was planted in the infamous rosebush graveyard, it was more than equal to the challenge and did not let the area's bad luck, bad karma, or bad reputation stand in its way. And while we're on the subject of graveyards, I couldn't help but notice the story on the AOL Welcome Screen about a scientist who is refuting the widely accepted theory that an asteroid led to the extinction of our old friends the dinosaurs, insisting that it was long-term climate change that was to blame instead. Paleontologist Michael Prauss has examined core samples near the impact site, and finds the Chicxulub meteor theory to be lacking, while competing scientists studying the same data are standing by the conclusion that their beloved meteor is the one and only culprit. "It is almost impossible to change the skeptics' minds," sniffed one of the affronted members in the meteor camp. The article continues: "Paleontologists are dating the scene of the crime and placing environmental suspects at the scene with some pretty strong arguments," which sounds to me like someone who's been watching just a few too many police procedurals on TV, rather than the usual dusty dissertation about geology and the fossil record. I can assure you that the dinosaurs and I would be having a great big laugh over this whole so-called controversy (scene of the crime, indeed) if only they were still around to enjoy it, alas.
Of course, things can always be worse, heaven knows, and often in the most unexpected places. Today Bill and I were at CVS and checking out the drinks in their coolers, and among the soda, bottled water, juice and sports drinks, there alone was one new blended concoction in a small bottle with the unlikely price tag of $999.99, which we thought was out of line, even amidst today's over-priced beverages. While it would be all too easy to scoff, I don't mind saying that the last time I spent that kind of money on anything, it came with power steering and a spare set of snow tires. I'm thinking that they're not going to be selling a lot of those, because even with a sticker that said "NEW," it didn't entice Bill to buy it, and we all know what he's like when it comes to new products. That reminded me of a quotation that we received at the hospital from our friends at ALCO for some replacement seats and leg rests for wheelchairs, and which concluded with this arresting statement:
*** QUOTE VALID UNTIL 12/31/5999 ***
Frankly, we considered it excessive for the company to hold the line on their pricing for almost 4,000 years, although we couldn't help but admire their unbridled optimism in the future of humanity, especially the coworker who insists that Barack Obama is the Antichrist and that Armageddon is right around the corner. Also at work, we all received a press release that announced in large type: "Blood Donor Program Gives the Gift of Life." It goes on to state, and you don't need Dave Barry to be sure that I'm not making this up, that the program " ... makes giving the Gift of Life easy for community residents ... " and follows that up with this blistering harangue, that would be enough to quail the most determined donor -
"Individuals 17 years of age (16, with parent's consent) to 75 (76 and older, with doctor's written approval), in good health, and weighing at least 110 pounds are encouraged to donate. In addition to the age requirement, a prospective donor must provide photo identification (driver's license, passport, etc.) and the last four digits of their social security number (used for tracking donations)."
You can believe me when I say that only hospital administrators would throw these kinds of roadblocks in the path of blood donors, and then have the nerve to describe this program as "easy" for anyone. Of course, us old-timers at the Employer of Last Resort can still remember when the department heads complained that the annual employee appraisals were too long and cumbersome, so the hospital formed a committee to revise them, with the perhaps unintentional result that the appraisal forms actually ended up being longer than they were to start with. In fact, they announced this with great fanfare as an improvement, which would seem inconceivable to normal people, but is just another day at the office for hospital administrators, and I ought to know.
Meanwhile at church, we needed to file a Police Report to document an old iron railing that had been stolen from the property - and how pathetic is that, when people are reduced to stealing railings from churches - so I was assigned to the case and snatched up the gauntlet with gusto, and an unquenchable zeal to see justice triumph over anarchy. I'm sure everyone knows how it is when you call for the Police nowadays, and they send over some 12-year-old kid that you wouldn't trust directing traffic for the buffet line at a bar mitzvah, much less protecting the citizenry from dangerous criminals, rather than the grizzled veterans of yesteryear, who inspired as much dread as confidence in good old John Q. Public. So they sent over the 12-year-old who drew the short straw at the station, and he came over to take my statement, or rather, to stand around looking bored and put upon while not taking my statement, since this apparently was not considered a crime worthy of their attention, and he wanted to make sure that I knew it. Frankly, I don't expect the Police to care about the theft of a rusty old beat-up railing, but I can't understand what's the point of sending them to Police Academy for all that training, if they can't even pretend to care, or failing that, at least humor the victim making the complaint, instead of making them feel like just another time-wasting burden on the department's resources. Now I don't mind saying that I can take a snub just about as well as the next fellow, and I've been thrown out of better places than this, as the saying goes, but I admit that I was pretty darned close to snarling, "Listen, Sonny, I pay your salary!" But then I realized that would be taking the easy way out, and would probably make him run home crying to his mother, when I'm sure he already has things like puberty and homework to deal with, heaven knows. But I did give his name and badge number to our rampant alien mutant poison ivy, and washed my hands of the entire matter. So the next time that youngster is out on his paper route, I have to say that I frankly don't care for his chances all that much.
Elle
Play ball! As far as I'm concerned, any week that includes Opening Day is automatically a good week, and life is worth living again, just by virtue of that. Just seeing the teams come north, and back in their own ballparks again, in front of the hometown faithful, is enough to dispel the gloom of winter and face the new season bright with promise. Everything starts over fresh, and last season - good or bad - is just a fading memory that has lost its power to either amaze or confound. It may still be pretty chilly in some of the baseball cities around the country, but when the Boys of Summer are back in town, we all have reasons to hope for better days ahead, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and Cracker Jack, by golly.
Speaking of better days ahead, it's easy to see that Spring has really sprung in the local area, with the early flowering trees putting on quite a show from one end of town to the other, and just about everywhere in between. It's too early for dogwoods, but the neighbor's magnolia is open, and everywhere you go, there are early pink and white explosions of cherry or crab apple or what-have-you, to cheer the winter-weary soul and delight the downcast. As if that weren't enough, the Spring flowers are outdoing themselves in colorful profusion, with a riot of daffodils, hyacinths, anemones and even tulips, all decked out in their seasonal finery, and brightening up even the deepest recesses of garden, lawn or walkway. Our inaptly-named Glory of the Snow finally opened (when it was 80 degrees, thanks not) and even our grape hyacinth, although it seems way too early for that. Everywhere you look, it's a rainbow-hued tonic to chase the winter doldrums, and even with your eyes closed, the Spring birds are singing up a storm to entertain and encourage. It's times like this when I realize that it's the invigorating rebirth of Spring that makes Winter endurable, and if Spring didn't exist, someone would have to invent it.
In other weather news, I can't say that I've seen any dandelions yet, although I don't doubt that they've already started to poke their sunny yellow heads above ground in the more exposed locations. Also slithering in unnoticed so far, I expect that our abundance of rampant alien mutant poison ivy is just lurking in the shadows, waiting for its opportunity to ensnare the unwary in its menacing tendrils, and standing straight up like some freak of nature, instead of creeping subordinately along the ground like it's supposed to. But I will say that I've already seen one harbinger of Summer that was as welcome as a warm breeze, and that was a returning ornamental from last year, even though it was planted in the infamous rosebush graveyard, it was more than equal to the challenge and did not let the area's bad luck, bad karma, or bad reputation stand in its way. And while we're on the subject of graveyards, I couldn't help but notice the story on the AOL Welcome Screen about a scientist who is refuting the widely accepted theory that an asteroid led to the extinction of our old friends the dinosaurs, insisting that it was long-term climate change that was to blame instead. Paleontologist Michael Prauss has examined core samples near the impact site, and finds the Chicxulub meteor theory to be lacking, while competing scientists studying the same data are standing by the conclusion that their beloved meteor is the one and only culprit. "It is almost impossible to change the skeptics' minds," sniffed one of the affronted members in the meteor camp. The article continues: "Paleontologists are dating the scene of the crime and placing environmental suspects at the scene with some pretty strong arguments," which sounds to me like someone who's been watching just a few too many police procedurals on TV, rather than the usual dusty dissertation about geology and the fossil record. I can assure you that the dinosaurs and I would be having a great big laugh over this whole so-called controversy (scene of the crime, indeed) if only they were still around to enjoy it, alas.
Of course, things can always be worse, heaven knows, and often in the most unexpected places. Today Bill and I were at CVS and checking out the drinks in their coolers, and among the soda, bottled water, juice and sports drinks, there alone was one new blended concoction in a small bottle with the unlikely price tag of $999.99, which we thought was out of line, even amidst today's over-priced beverages. While it would be all too easy to scoff, I don't mind saying that the last time I spent that kind of money on anything, it came with power steering and a spare set of snow tires. I'm thinking that they're not going to be selling a lot of those, because even with a sticker that said "NEW," it didn't entice Bill to buy it, and we all know what he's like when it comes to new products. That reminded me of a quotation that we received at the hospital from our friends at ALCO for some replacement seats and leg rests for wheelchairs, and which concluded with this arresting statement:
*** QUOTE VALID UNTIL 12/31/5999 ***
Frankly, we considered it excessive for the company to hold the line on their pricing for almost 4,000 years, although we couldn't help but admire their unbridled optimism in the future of humanity, especially the coworker who insists that Barack Obama is the Antichrist and that Armageddon is right around the corner. Also at work, we all received a press release that announced in large type: "Blood Donor Program Gives the Gift of Life." It goes on to state, and you don't need Dave Barry to be sure that I'm not making this up, that the program " ... makes giving the Gift of Life easy for community residents ... " and follows that up with this blistering harangue, that would be enough to quail the most determined donor -
"Individuals 17 years of age (16, with parent's consent) to 75 (76 and older, with doctor's written approval), in good health, and weighing at least 110 pounds are encouraged to donate. In addition to the age requirement, a prospective donor must provide photo identification (driver's license, passport, etc.) and the last four digits of their social security number (used for tracking donations)."
You can believe me when I say that only hospital administrators would throw these kinds of roadblocks in the path of blood donors, and then have the nerve to describe this program as "easy" for anyone. Of course, us old-timers at the Employer of Last Resort can still remember when the department heads complained that the annual employee appraisals were too long and cumbersome, so the hospital formed a committee to revise them, with the perhaps unintentional result that the appraisal forms actually ended up being longer than they were to start with. In fact, they announced this with great fanfare as an improvement, which would seem inconceivable to normal people, but is just another day at the office for hospital administrators, and I ought to know.
Meanwhile at church, we needed to file a Police Report to document an old iron railing that had been stolen from the property - and how pathetic is that, when people are reduced to stealing railings from churches - so I was assigned to the case and snatched up the gauntlet with gusto, and an unquenchable zeal to see justice triumph over anarchy. I'm sure everyone knows how it is when you call for the Police nowadays, and they send over some 12-year-old kid that you wouldn't trust directing traffic for the buffet line at a bar mitzvah, much less protecting the citizenry from dangerous criminals, rather than the grizzled veterans of yesteryear, who inspired as much dread as confidence in good old John Q. Public. So they sent over the 12-year-old who drew the short straw at the station, and he came over to take my statement, or rather, to stand around looking bored and put upon while not taking my statement, since this apparently was not considered a crime worthy of their attention, and he wanted to make sure that I knew it. Frankly, I don't expect the Police to care about the theft of a rusty old beat-up railing, but I can't understand what's the point of sending them to Police Academy for all that training, if they can't even pretend to care, or failing that, at least humor the victim making the complaint, instead of making them feel like just another time-wasting burden on the department's resources. Now I don't mind saying that I can take a snub just about as well as the next fellow, and I've been thrown out of better places than this, as the saying goes, but I admit that I was pretty darned close to snarling, "Listen, Sonny, I pay your salary!" But then I realized that would be taking the easy way out, and would probably make him run home crying to his mother, when I'm sure he already has things like puberty and homework to deal with, heaven knows. But I did give his name and badge number to our rampant alien mutant poison ivy, and washed my hands of the entire matter. So the next time that youngster is out on his paper route, I have to say that I frankly don't care for his chances all that much.
Elle
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:11 PM
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