Point of View: Time to Revel

Soon all will unravel, as we who live here the year round well know, though there’s still time to revel in the heady indolence and promise of spring. 

And I, as is fitting for a soul conceived in May, have been particularly active, spreading topsoil over much of our backyard, which, because of O’en’s tendency to dig when bored, has come to resemble a battlefield pockmarked by Howitzer shells. 

The side that’s been reseeded has been fenced off from him, and when the pasture grass Mary bought at what we still call Agway is well up, I’ll set about redeeming the other side even as he begins to dig up the side I’ve restored. And so it will go, I imagine. But Mary’s happy, proud of my efforts. Keeping hope alive is, in the end, all that counts, and I’ll drink to that. 

Cultivating our garden is of utmost spiritual importance nowadays inasmuch as, other than the issue devoted almost entirely to the Mueller report — which she may press and preserve under glass — she’s found the front-page news pretty much repellent lately.

I have some inner shutoff valve, I think, when it comes to empathy, though she does not, being the more compassionate and more courageous of the two of us. Even though you don’t see the blood oozing, she is often wounded because of her unblinking gaze. Me? I gotta go to a game.

Come to think of it, covering sports has probably saved me from despair, the natural outcome, I would think, of thinking too much. What was it Yogi Berra said? When asked what went through his mind when he was hitting. “I can’t hit and think at the same time.”

You have to compartmentalize to some extent then so that hope can be kept alive, so that despair can be kept at bay. Spring is a good season for that, for nurturing hopeful thoughts and peaceful visions, for awakening us to the beauty that surrounds us, and, by contrast, to the evil that surrounds us also.