All is quiet on the Midwestern front today. The birds are chirping, the tulips are blooming and we’ve managed to survive once again, through that cruel mistress of which we call “Winter”. No, it wasn’t a terrible winter in my hometown by any stretch of the imagination, save for the annual January bowl game loss by the University’s football team. We survived. Not unlike we do every single Winter. Everytime the devlish harlot rears her ugly face in Central Ohio, we say we can take it. By mid-January all the stores are out of salt, shovels and canned meat. By mid-February, the stores are already shoving bikinis and sandals down our throat, even though there is a foot of snow outside, and poor Mrs. Berkshire can’t find a new pair of Duck Boots that will fit properly due to her bunyon. Then, here we arrive, at Mid-March.

Yes, we made it. Just as the morning sun rises in the east, so will we survive. In fact, my street has already begun our annual spring anticipation of Summers impending arrival. Why, just yesterday, Mr. Dixon was outside spreading fertilizer around his lawn – and in typical Central Ohio fashion, Mr. Isiah was there shortly after spreading it around his Kentucky Bluegrass. Before long, Mrs. Whitmire’s grandson Jesse was spreading her fetilizer. Not to be outdone, the young, single, busty, Dental Hygenist that moved into Mrs. Watson’s old house was outside as well preparing her yard. In true “Welcome to the Neighborhood” fashion, Mr. Dixion, Mr. Isiah, Chuck the Orkin Man and even little Jesse were sure to supervize the situation.

Yes, Spring has arrived. The robins and finchs have invaded our neighborhood like little… feathered ninjas. Sneaking it when it’s dark, only to wake you from your peaceful slumber as they camp outside your window. Some may say these… these… creatures are there to sing their praises to God, or at least that’s what is taught in the Sunday School classes down on Rosehill Brethren Church. However, Pastor McGee seems to feel quite the opposite, that they are in fact, God’s hired guns to remind us of the tennants of waking before the sunrises and… that a proper washing and faxing of a vehicle is mandatory to get into Heaven it would seem. Oh yes, but the robins and the finchs love our blessed home. They hoover over our house surveying the property before making their landing in one of the many birdhouses, feeders and bird baths that populate our backyard. For years, upon years, that my wife’s granparents lived in our house, they birds and squirrels owned the lawn in fact. I’m sure that on their way flying north from Panama City every year the birds would discuss with eachother “Oh I cannot wait to get to The Peyton Place… oh how I love the Peyton Place”. This was all, however, before we moved into the house last fall, and a new dictator of the lawn… our one year old Welsh Corgi, Matilda took over.

You see, it’s really not that different than finding that one vacation spot you always enjoyed somewhere along the coast. You find that one, perfect, little mom and pops restaurant… “The Mermaid of the Seas”, and year after year while on holiday, you’ve experienced some of the most mouthwatering crab and scallops you’ve ever tasted. Then one year, after telling all your friends and family of the wonderful “Mermaid of the Seas”, you pull into the parking lot – only to discover that where once stood such a lovely restaurant, it’s now actually a gift shop. Not just any gift shop, mind you, but one full of those t-shirts that say things like “No Fat Chicks Allowed” and t-shirts with the design of a woman in a bikini on them. It’s a terrible feeling really.

I can only imagine that is how our poor birds must’ve felt as they swooped into our yard for the first time, by the bird bath, past the shrubs and tulips, to land on their feeder… only to be chased off by a rabid, short legged, big eared creature, barking and wagging her stub where her tail used to be. She jumps, they scatter, she circles back around and sits down proudly protecting her lawn.

I can almost hear the conversation between the birds as they fly away. “What was that thing?” one bird may ask to another. “I’m not sure!” the other would proclaim. A third bird would fly up and reply, “I think Sgt. Peyton fertilized his lawn too early this year, because that’s the most ferocious squirrel I’ve ever seen!”

Yes, Spring has arrived. The days are getting longer. The trees are getting greener. My squirrels are starting to look more like Welsh Corgi’s. Such is life in the Mid-West. Or so I hear.

So as the cruel mistress herself, Winter has exited our lives for the next 6 months, I raise a toast.

Don’t cheat, steal or lie. However, if you must – Cheat death, Steal a kiss and Lay with the one you love.

Cheers, old friend. Cheers.