It’s not so much the pagan thing about spring that bothers me.
I always politely refuse the invitations to join in the ceremonies this time of year. It’s too darn cold to dance around naked smeared with goat’s blood waiting for the sun to come up on the vernal equinox.
Or is it the solstice? I never can remember.
Glad my kids finally grew out of the obligatory rituals. Hiding eggs so they could be found by kids dressed in bunny outfits always was too weird for me.
Sharing my deep personal grief of Christ’s sacrifice for the whole world with others, especially Hollywood, is not for me. That’s best done on my knees alone than with others whether in a crowded church or a movie theatre.
And the usually miserable allergies many of us suffer from this time of year? Well, I’ve learned to take an extra handkerchief with me, pop a pill and shut up. Telling others how lousy you feel doesn’t really help anyone.
So what is it about this time of year that causes me to now like spring? Not the warm sunny weather I’m enjoying so much.
These on-again off-again warm days cold days do get to me. Why can’t we just skip spring and get right to summer?
It could be the daylight savings time change. That does throw me into confusion for awhile. I’ll never forget the time I was in charge of the Sunday morning service at the little storefront church I had helped start from scratch.
Starting on time has always been important to me, so what if no one had showed up yet. I finished giving the message to my family on the front row, picked up things and started for the door.
When people were coming in while we were leaving, I realized we had forgotten to set our clocks forward an hour.
You would think the shorter nights and longer days would make me happy. They do. But there’s still not enough sunlight for me.
One thing I do thoroughly enjoy is spring break, one of the few holidays that arrive at just the right time.
This year the whole family is headed for a foreign country to escape the seasonal doldrums. Thanks to a friend, one round-trip ticket to London costs less than flying from Grand Junction to Salt Lake and back. Seriously.
Since my oldest daughter Duana lives there, I don’t mind going overseas to a place where they speak a foreign language. She can translate their words into real American English.
While there we plan on going to the Tower of London so my kids can see how barbaric the ancestors of those who called the Indians “savages” were.
Sure, the weather will be just as iffy there as here, but it will be a change of pace, scenery, culture, etc. Change is good for a stuck-in-the-mud guy like me.
Maybe it’s the mud that bothers me? Nope. It wasn’t that bad this year.
Bill Kight, of Glenwood Springs, shares his stories with readers every other week. If you’re like him and don’t care much for spring, share your reasons with him by sending an e-mail to email@example.com.
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