SPRING IS NOT MY FAULT

It's my fault!  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'M SORRY.

The sun is out, and the temperature is in the high fifties.  Out comes the big broom, and I sweep the patio clear of its winter debris.  Into the cellar I go, battling cobwebs and stuff that was moved during the gas crisis (so the plumbers could access the furnace and hot water heater), stuff that I never put back from where it came.  I find the metal bistro table, two collapsible chairs, and drag everything to the back door.  I scrub the table and chairs, then I scrub the four plastic outdoor chairs and small plastic mini-table, drying everything with paper towels.

Yes, folks, I am doing this!  The sun is shining; life is fabulous: I put out the patio furniture and I pretend that it is Spring.  Yahoo!  First cup of tea on the patio for the season!

And then ... the wind comes.  Not just any wind; the Wind of A Thousand Spring Haters.  The wind howls so strongly and so loudly and so incessantly, that I worry the roof will blow off my house, or that the walls will implode, or that the trees will come down, or that the power lines will snap, or that my sedan will blow away.

Around ten p.m., I realize that I had better secure my belongings.  I trudge outside, careful not to get blown off the patio and flung into the backyard, and madly begin stacking the plastic chairs.  Then, I secure the grill with extra bricks.  I fold the collapsible chairs and wedge them against the fence, holding those chairs up by the stack of plastic chairs.  I put two bricks on the top the the bistro table and head back inside.

Once in the house, the world is hit by a wind gust so torturous that I at first believe a nearby train has jumped the tracks due to a possible tornado.  It sounds like the entire world is ending.  When it's safe to peek out the window without fear of glass shattering in on me, I suspect that the bistro table will not survive the night, even with the bricks.

Out I go again, desperately trying to fold up the table that is threatening to take off with me attached.  I finally get the table partially down, roll it back through the doorway, and lean it against the kitchen wall.  Soon after, the rain starts.  Friends begin texting me: "It's snowing where I am."  Where they are, by the way, is mere towns away.

A few days later, it is again lovely out.  Cautiously and with great trepidation, I roll out the table one more time and set up the bistro area.  Of course, it rains and rains and rains for days after I do this.  However, I do NOT unstack the plastic chairs, staving off the wintry conditions suffered by the western half of the state.  So, for that, anyway, YOU'RE WELCOME.

As for the rest of it, though, I am so sorry.  I truly believed at the time that Spring had Sprung.  I realize now my mistake, so I'm keeping my snow shovels upstairs and will not put them away until I am ready to trade shovels for air conditioners.  That should ward off any more of Mother Nature's antics.  Really, though, so sorry.  I won't do it again!  Until next Spring -- you all totally know I'm going to pull the same stunt next year.