January 31st is generally not ideal weather, but today was exceptional. I woke to birdsong and sunshine gleaming on the snow. One of the oak trees appeared to be sporting a fur muff, but it was a black squirrel splayed on the trunk, sunning itself.
A snowstorm is scheduled to roll in tonight and throughout most of Sunday, so I cleaned the walks and ran a few errands. It’s a small storm, mind you – not Snowpocolypse, Snowmaggedan, Death-By-a-Thousand-Flakes, or whatever the talking heads call it. It’s just a general inconvenience.
As I was putting away groceries,** I noticed the crisper could use a good scrubbing. That led, naturally, to Spring Cleaning.
You might think that this ritual should occur in April or May, but such rules are meaningless in La Casa de Tontería (La Chambre des Absurdité to you francophiles). April is for gardening, the month of battling Creeping Charlie aka Ground Ivy aka The-Plant-That-Will-Not-Die-Die!-Die! May is a chaotic month at The Young Human Factory, a time of quality-control issues and outbreaks of senioritis.
In contrast, winter buries all the little annoyances – sweeps it under a snow-rug, as it were. Beach sand hunkers down at the shore, unable to find its way to my floors. Spiders are too cold to build their fanciful traps in every corner, window, and etc. Middleschoolers lie dormant for weeks at a time, not unlike weeds.
Now my refrigerator gleams and all its contents can be seen at a glance. I also changed batteries in the temperature gauge, scrubbed the bathroom, washed the rugs, and restored the wastebaskets and kitchen pail to like-new cleanliness.
Tomorrow: the livingroom and bookshelves.
**I was surprised by the crowd at the grocery store. For a moment, I was afraid that the storm had been upgraded to a Category 5 or 6, or whatever the prognosticators call Level We’re-Going-to-Be-Buried-Until-June. I had forgotten about the Super Bowl. Yes, indeed. After the Winter Classic, I lose interest in games which don’t involve my favorite teams.