Taxes owed, winter vacation bills coming due, inspection of a car that has a catatonic catalytic converter, a new dump sticker, piles of leaves to be raked, glaring bald spots in the backyard that need seeding . . . no wonder April’s called the cruelest month.
Yet the prospect of doom — there’s always an upside — does keep one nimble, quickens the step, increases blood flow . . . well, to most parts of the body.
One yearns for good news. There’s the indictment, of course. When it was announced by The Times the other day in a pleasingly massive font, I couldn’t wait to show Mary — who, going against type, was still sleeping — and recommend it to her as a keepsake. On awakening, she pointed out that not only did we not have the wall space, but that we oughtn’t to gloat, the political hay Trump could make of it being obvious. And, besides, she hadn’t had her coffee yet.
“I’ve not had my coffee yet” is our way of allaying news that is fraught. It’s be come more or less a standard plea in our house, a way of putting off, as long as we can, the off-putting — visions that the hush-money indictment might conjure up in his case being one example, something you don’t want to summon up even after you’ve had your coffee. There are other things to think about after all, such as taxes owed, winter vacation bills coming due, and Sisyphean tasks to undertake, such as raking piles of leaves and seeding glaring bald spots that will, sure as shootin’, reappear next year.
And then there’s the shredding to be done, a massive amount of it. I’ve got DuraFlame boxes filled with receipts, checkbook registers, credit card statements, and so forth dating to 2010 in my closet. They were, before Mary brought the hammer down, piled up in helter-skelter fashion. Now, they’re piled up neatly, one atop the other. We do want to leave things in order for our heirs.
And soon I’ll buy a shredder at Staples that’s probably bound to break, as the last two did. But only after the taxes are remitted, the winter vacation is paid for, the car’s inspected or junked, the dump sticker’s bought, the leaves are raked, and the curried dirt is sown.
Ah, spring!