This isn’t an April’s Fool column. I wouldn’t dream of writing two April Fool’s columns in one lifetime. Besides, it’s not April until tomorrow, and by the time my next column appears, April Fool’s Day would be old news. In the newspaper biz, old news is used to wrap fish and chips.
No, I’m going to write about spring, which is only a few days old. Since it may not last much longer, I’d better do it while I can.
The Vernal Equinox, as it’s also known, used to be my favorite time of year. It used to be the season of light rains that gently nurtured the tender shoots, saplings, buds, and blossoms, all coming back to life after the cold, unforgiving bleakness of winter. But no more. Today spring is the beginning of the thunderstorm season, which generally lasts until the end of next winter, but began its five-month-long peak season a few weeks ago.
When I was a kid I loved thunderstorms. They were so infrequent that they were a novelty, an adventure and a treat. They never happened in the spring — they were reserved for Aug. 14 — so they never caused the power to go out while school was in session.
You can’t imagine how glad we were about that. We would have hated missing school.
It’s entirely possible that I would still retain my childlike affection for thunderstorms were it not for their tendency to destroy the delicate electronics upon which my livelihood has depended for so many years — about as many years as we’ve been suffering from such chronic thunderstorms, now that I think about it.
I should really stop being a gloomy Gus about spring. After all, I do have surge protection, and if I’d thought to invest in the company that manufactures the ones I buy, I’d be a rich man today.
And believe me, they do help — except when they don’t, which is sometimes. And it’s not like they’re going to warn you with something like “Help — I’m wearing out . . . replace me.”
But what am I saying? The last two memorable weather events that somehow destroyed one perfectly good monitor and ended the life of one uninterruptible power supply happened not in spring, not in summer, but in that formerly quiet season known as fall. And on both occasions it was a gust of wind.
Now you remember the old saying, don’t you? “In like a lion, out like a lamb”? That’s supposed to mean March, not the entire year.
In the world of weather, lambs seem to have become extinct.
I don’t know what’s going on. Well I do, but I’m not going to go into it here. It would sound too much like a high school science class, assuming high schools still teach science. Does anyone know?
Let’s just say that things have changed climactically.
Contact Robert Rufa at rhrufa59@hotmail.com.
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