*$#@@ You, Winter

Poets have always written paeans to Spring.  It certainly makes sense: spring is the time of year when we feel alive, when the earth and all of its creatures emerge from a long winter's slumber.  Spring also serves as a nice metaphor for other important things in life, like growth, love, and lust.  But as I've sat and suffered through this winter that just doesn't seem to want to end (we had snow a week ago, and temperatures have been running 5- to 10-degrees below normal for weeks), it occurred to me that one of the reasons poets write so much about spring as opposed to winter is that they're all cowards. 

Winter is a bully and no one wants to stand up to him.  Instead, we collectively ignore the issue and praise spring.  I'm done with that.  Screw you, winter, and your life-sucking ways.  You arrive every year with promises of snowball fights and sledding, Christmas and hot chocolate.  Then you convince autumn to let you get started early and don't answer spring's calls four months later. That leaves us with four months of ice, snow, darkness, and cold.  Your job is over now, time to move on. 

I know that there are a lot of people out there who say that they love the winter.  I think they're lying. They may have found ways to cope with winter, such as skiing or skating or snowshoeing, but I don't think they really love winter.  They're just like the poets, though, too scared to call winter out for fear that it will retaliate. 

I'm over that.  I'm taking a stand and telling winter to hit the road.  Sure, I know winter will be back next year, but so will I. I could run away somewhere south (theoretically, that is) but I'm going to stay to keep an eye on winter, to keep it honest. 

Back in the Saddle

It's been sitting there, like a pair of pants in the closet that you swear you'll be able to fit into again, some day.  It's been gnawing at me, especially as I have come across something in my daily travels that I label "blog-worthy."  But there comes a point, I believe, where the plant that you haven't watered for a long time ceases to be a living plant and instead becomes a relic, a memorial to live plants.  It can't be brought back, no matter how much water and sunlight you might provide. 

I'll stop now because the needle of the metaphor meter is pinned to the red.  I think you get the picture: after a long hiatus, I'm resurrecting the Prospect Perspective.  I do it for no other reason than I enjoyed sharing my thoughts with those people lucky enough to happen upon my tiny corner of the web. 

Yes, I'm going to ask you to stay tuned.  But you won't have to wait too long for new content.  I promise.

A Thousand Sunsets

I'm sure everyone on Facebook has posted a similar picture of their vacation.  I thought about not posting it here, but then I realized that every sunset is unique and has special meaning for those who took it or saw it. 

Bike Trail Tales

I live in Northampton and work in Easthampton and I like to ride my bike, so last summer and fall I watched with keen interest the progress on the construction of the bridge over Route 10 that would mark the installation of the final link in the trail between the two towns.  (I'm still mad at myself for not going to the official opening).

With the bridge now in place, I can now enjoy a peaceful ride without having to constantly worry about traffic.  As I discovered yesterday, though, there are perils on the bike path as well, as with this downed tree I had to deal with.

And don't let the cuteness fool you here: I'm sure this was a killer deer I barely escaped from (I didn't dare get any closer to take a better picture):

Whether You Like It Or Not

It's an interesting twist on the 30-minutes-or-less idea: deliveries when THEY want. 

Come On, Groupon

I “belong” to Groupon, is that’s the right term.  By that I mean that at some point I signed up to receive their daily emails touting deals on all kinds of things, from clothing to restaurants to acupuncture.  I’ve even bought a deal or two.  But I have to admit that I’ve never really paid much attention to the content of the emails; I check out what it’s for and if it doesn’t interest me, I quickly delete it. This morning’s email caught my eye for some reason, and I actually read all of the copy related to an offer of discount golf: 

Like painting a portrait or fixing a computer, completing a round of golf is always more impressive when it’s done in the pouring rain. Enjoy equally impressive fair-weathered fores with today's Groupon

I’ve played golf in the rain before, but do people really paint in the rain?  Or fix computers?  And what does fixing computers have to do with golf, really?  I was confused. 

Then I dug in my trash folder for a couple of other offers: 

Though rubber-banding a photograph to a roly-poly super ball increases its utility, its picture quality plummets after playing just a few rounds of fetch. Put a photo in a durable place with today's Groupon:

The needle is a tool shared by quilters and tattoo artists, which is why most quilting conventions include a handmade tattoo in every goody bag. Celebrate the unifying power of the needle with today's Groupon

Like a carefully arranged leaf pile, the right outfit can make its creator appear put-together or hide an entire family. Stand out with today's Groupon

Then I got it: the copy is meant to be ironic, in a 21^st century hipster kind of way. 

I tried to think of a humorous way to wrap up this entry, but I found that reading through the Groupon dreck drained me of any humor I may have had.   Just give me the damned offer and spare me your drivel.  

School's Out

At 12:20 this afternoon, summer vacation officially begins for students in the Northampton Public Schools.  It’s a little later this year, when compared to previous years, because of the snowy (read: sucky) winter we had, and it’s more than a little strange that the last day is a half day on a Monday when graduation was on Friday.  But those are mostly adult concerns.  For the kids, the focus is, of course, on vacation and promotion.  As my younger said said to me this morning, “At 12:21 today, I will be a third grader.” 

I’ve also been amused by the way he’s been singing “School’s out for summer” over the past few days.  He took care to explain to me that he knows that the song is really only for those who are done with college, because that’s when school is really out forever, but he’s willing to sing a few bars to celebrate having the summer off. 

My older son graduated from Jackson Street School on Friday.  Since I’d been to other graduation-type events before involving my children—Safety Village, pre-school, CCD—I thought this one would be no problem.  I was wrong—I got caught up in the emotion of the event and found it to be completely bittersweet.  And when after the celebratory cake had been cut up and served and my son came up to me and asked if he could go to a friend’s house, I felt the significance of this momentous day.  For the past six years, Jackson Street School has been the center of our educational universe.  Next year, for the first time, our two sons will be going to different schools, with different schedules, teachers, and expectations.  We’ll adjust, of course, and everything will be fine, but that transition to middle school won’t happen until after this long stretch of summer is over, so the only thing I have to keep my company are all the fond memories I have of Jackson Street, and the reminders of what we’ve lost. 

So yes, school’s out for summer. But it’s never really out forever.  Instead, it visits us over and over again, in our memories, through our children, and in our forgot-the-locker-combination dreams.  And don’t forget Facebook, too, where friends from school bombard us with friend requests that completely ignore the reasons why we’re not really friends with them in the first place. 

But I digress.  And as I said, the last day of school is about looking forward, not backward. 

Bring on the summer!