By G. E.
Shuman
I hate to
admit it, but I’ve been in a somewhat melancholy mood the past few days, even
though I have no good reason for this and actually HATE the sound of that word.
It ranks right up there with opaque, obtuse, and mediocre on my list of
disgusting sounding words. (Mediocre is the absolute worst.) I know, most
people probably don’t have a list of words they don’t like, but I do, and you
have just read it.
Anyway, I really
have been feeling a bit ‘blah’ about life recently. I think that has to do with
the past few rainy days here in central Vermont; those always drag me down a
bit. Also, I watch the news entirely too much and, lately, that is enough to turn
anyone into a sourpuss. I am pretty certain my melancholia also has to do with
this ‘aging’ thing that seems to be happening to me lately. (My wife would say
it’s been happening much more than just lately.) I am acutely aware that this
summer will mark the end of my sixth decade on earth and that’s just peachy. My
happy birthday may not seem all that genuinely happy to me this time around.
I’m practicing sitting in a rocking chair and shouting “Get off the lawn!”
Also,
probably partially because of that aforementioned ‘aging’ thing, the seasons
are just blowing by like a March wind. March itself has already blown by and,
at this writing, has taken most of April with it. On the day you read this it
will have finished the job. I’ve always contended that part of the blur of the
quickly passing seasons is the fact that they really just aren’t all that long.
A whole year is only 365 days. (You knew that.) And a season is only a fourth
of that… (and most of you knew that, too.) I do tend to ramble sometimes, and
I’m sorry for the sarcasm, sort of.
Each morning,
I have my coffee in a front room of our old house as I listen to the clocks
tick off more seconds of my life while I groggily gaze out the window. How’s
that for melancholy? On the other side of that pane is one of the big lilac
bushes and, this time of year, every single morning that bush is greener than
the day before. Every day the buds are a bit bigger and more have burst into
leaves. This is a really awesome thing to me and helps my mood as I briefly
watch the new life springing forth. Hey, maybe that’s why we call this season
‘spring.’ No, that would be too sensible. Sarcasm, again.
You know, it
was only a month ago that I was outside and snow blowing about sixteen inches
of newly fallen heavy white stuff. Yuck! Yesterday my granddaughter was playing
outside and brought me in a bouquet of tiny yellow flowers. Thinking about that
I can feel my mood improving already.
I’m
finishing writing this column on the next new morning. Yes, the clocks are
still ticking, their pendulums still swinging another day away. But the birds
are singing, the sun is shining, and the beautiful buds on the lilac bush have
burst out even more.
