The equinox rocks
Spring has sprung. Today, March 20, is the official start date of spring. Please whisper in Mother Nature’s ear and remind her, because she seems to have forgotten. I’m still shivering over here.
The good news is that the vernal equinox is upon us.
Side note: I Googled the word equinox, but the internet tried to sell me a Chevy. I scrolled down to an article about the differences between a Chevrolet Silverado and a Ford Super Duty. Then, the word Super Duty made me laugh for 10 minutes. I can assume that in the battle between the two vehicles that the Super Duty came in as number two.
Number two. I’ll let that marinate.
But I digress, like I do. For those of you who believe in science, the vernal equinox is when the very round planet Earth tilts 23.5 degrees on its axis relative to its plane of orbit around the sun. For those of you who don’t believe in science, it’s when the White Witch falls off the edge of the Flat Earth and ends up in Narnia, or whatever you believe.
Spring is a lovely season, but it’s always a little bit weird in Pittsburgh. It’s the time of year when my car becomes a locker room. I keep four different coats in the back seat. I have the heavy winter jacket (for snow), the lighter winter jacket (for almost snow), the hoodie (when there’s just a nip in the air) and the light nylon jacket (for rain). They end up in the car because the day will start out unseasonably cold and turn to unseasonably warm. The thermometer goes up and down faster and more often than Kennywood’s Jack Rabbit (this is where I lose my out-of-town readers).
There’s nothing I enjoy more than peeling off a coat and lobbing it into the back seat of my car, and into the pile. Anyone glancing into my car must be thinking, “That poor man, he’s headed to the Laundromat without a basket.”
It doesn’t matter because spring is here! This is the rare time of year where I enjoy hearing the birds chirp. There will be a Sunday morning in midsummer when I will curse the neighborhood birds for their incessant chirping, but, for now, I’m excited to hear them again. Welcome back to ‘Burgh, birdies!
Additional side note: The worst sound in the summer is the neighbor with the leaf blower who likes to blow leaves around his yard at 8 in the morning on a Sunday. The leaf blower is among my least favorite inventions alongside high-fructose corn syrup, the Snuggie and the atom bomb.
Incidentally, Fat Man and Little Boy are the nicknames I hear when I’m baby-sitting my nephew, Connor.
It doesn’t matter because my thoughts are on flowers, sunshine and warm winds blowing through my hair – well, it will be warm, and it will be blowing.
As the Earth tilts in our favor (sorry, Australia), I want to celebrate. Sound the trumpets! It’s springtime!