I have committed to an April Writing Challenge - promising myself to write each day this month.
Today's prompt - Describe your favorite Spring activity.
What do you look forward to each Spring? The longer days - the beautifully budding trees - spotting the first robin redbreast and then being forced to listen to that sonofabitch chirp from the backyard tree every goddamn morning before daybreak?
I long for the first sight of green pushing from the dirt once the snow melts that provide the promise of daffodils and tulips blooms I love the colors - the beautiful rainbow of colors the Spring flowers provide. I love the smell of rain in the air that is necessary to welcome the beauty of the season.
Springtime is a rebirth from a long, cold hard Winter. In order to appreciate the Spring in all her beautiful glory, we here in the Midwest have to suffer through an awful lot of snowy, windy bullshit for sure.
It's all good though - really - a fair trade-off. It seems the harsher the winter the more lovely the Spring.
It seems mother nature is showing her bipolar cards this year in Chicago. Especially when you consider the weather patterns of this past Saturday. One minute hurricane-force winds and snow blowing sideways - ten minutes later, nothing but blue skies and sunshine.
That's a mother for you. Such a fickle bitch.
So how do you really know Spring is here to stay?
When the ants arrive.
I woke up this morning to crashes of thunder and rain drops on the window panes. As I put together my lunch on the kitchen counter, I looked down to see I had visitors.
It was the ants. My old friends the "little bastards" had returned.
And, I remember the conversations from Springs of the past. More specifically, the rants of my mother.
Whenever she is in town and the ants arrive, I would wake to sounds of a rolled-up newspaper slamming onto the kitchen counter along with her shrieks of "oh, for Christ's sake, will you take a look at this shit, son.of.a.bitch. Where the hell do they come from?" Once she surveys the grave yard of crawlers on the counter top, she'll leave the crime scene 'as is" so I may see "just what the hell you're dealing with".
I'll clean up the evidence with the windex and half a roll of paper towel - dropping the little suckers in the garbage can grave as I bow my head an say a prayer for the little fellas - thankfully the clueless insects didn't know what hit them.
And, then, much like clockwork, I either get a text, email, or voicemail at some point during the day from the executioner with a list for the store.
"You know what you need? The Terro ant stuff - that's what I used to use. Don't you remember?"
She also requests potato chips. "Get the Jay's. They like the Jay's"
Mom will line the counter top with Jay's potato chips dipped in the Terro - because "ya gotta trick 'em with the chips".
And then come more instructions - delivered in a shriek - for emphasis. "Leave the chips where they are - don't move 'em."
The next morning there are ants EVERYWHERE but on the chips - but I'm not allowed to kill them. There are thousands - seriously walking in a lined formation that would make a soldier wince with pride.
The next morning's instructions are ever more bizarre than the day before - the delivery is less of a shriek and more of a bellow - "DON'T KILL THEM!" "They have to bring the poison back to the queen".
And then I ask the question that begs to be asked, "they take the chips' dip back to the bumblebees?"
I get the glare. You know the glare. Followed by the passive/aggressive zinger.
"Do what you want - what would I know?"
Read my other challenges this month.
April 3 - Is Work Ever Fun?
April 5 - Painting Is Like Therapy To Me
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