Dangling Transitions

Another day, spiraling in transition, sitting here sipping on a second cup of coffee.

I mean, I’m sipping on the second cup of coffee, not the day, spiraling in transition.

The day, spiraling in transition is sipping ice tea; herbal green, I think.

I know...I have to watch the dangling participles

You have to be careful where you dangle your participles, especially these days when everyone loves jumping to conclusions; transitions or not.

So Summer Solstice is right around the corner.

Yeah, for real...I saw it grabbing a hot dog from the guy with the snack truck, just outside the park.

To be honest, I’m not sure if it paid—in fact I know it didn’t pay— since Summer Solstice never carries cash. Mostly because it’s so full of itself, it figures somebody is bound to pick up the check, which they usually do.

Spring has done its best, this year, to keep summer at bay seesawing between a string of cool, if not downright cold, dreary, wet days with the occasional flash of summer-like sunshine and warm, if not hot days, usually followed by a penance of some more cold and drearies.

But now that Summer Sol, as I like to call it, has gulped down its hot dog, I have to admit it does feel as if we’re finally making the jump into full fledge “Official” summer.

In fact, now that spring knows it’s on the way out, it seems to have surrendered completely and dropped a bunch of upper 80 plus degree days on us.

I guess as if to say...“What...what cold and dreary days are you talking about, Writer Boy?”

What...? I have a complicated relationship with all the seasons.

Another sure sign Summer Sol, is knocking on the door is the band of Druids in the park, working out the finale of this year’s human degradation ritual.

Oh, sure, they try flying under the radar by not wearing their full Druid ritual dress; instead going with khaki cargo shorts and polos, or a variation, thereof, but the knowledgeable eye can always spot them.

Once you’ve seen a Druid’s legs, you don’t forget it.

Let’s just say they don’t believe in moisturizing.

In any case, all I’m saying is, if you decide to take a nice stroll in the park over the next couple of days, avoid eye contact with the guys with the flaky knees.

Stick with the Morris Dancers rehearsing in the Gazebo. The worse you’ll run into there is a wayward boot to the temple if you’re not watching your step or, more specifically, their steps.

In fact, you’ll probably be better off if you just wander over to the ball fields, where the Cloaked Mystic are practicing for this year’s 

corporate league playoffs.

Yeah, the Mystics have a pretty good team, again, like most years, and, again, like most years, the other teams are complaining the Mystics have an advantage since they always know what pitch is coming. To which the Mystics reply, “Hey, I didn’t ask be to be born a Mystic...besides, you try running in these cloaks!"

So in their minds, it all evens out.

Unfortunately, our own one time, goodtime, wild and crazy days of Solstice debauchery, which we regularly engaged in are, alas, no more. After the incident with Numinous Labyrinth and my neighbor’s dog, who the Druids mistook for a goat, it’s been impossible to get the proper permits and human sacrifice releases.

Which is fine, since, as you probably know yourself, this time of year the Druids charge an arm and a leg for a booking...literally....

I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to ask any of my guests to make that kind of offering...not any more.

And, as usual, the Druids have gotten me off my original point, which shouldn’t come as a surprise since I’m sure you know how the Druids get me riled up. My original point was supposed to be about how life is just a series of transitions from one thing to the next. And the manner in which we deal with those transitions, or even better, not deal with those transitions, defines how well we deal within the “now” moment in which we find ourselves

Truth be told, I have no idea what I just said, other than hoping it’s one of those faux-profound, tid-bits pretentious folks throw out there now and again, that have the rest of us nodding our heads, thinking...I don’t get it, but what do I know...?

Even more truth be told, which, pun aside, to be honest is in pretty short supply these days—a pointless, silly dissertation for another time—I don’t really do too well with transitions, no matter how much I might enjoy the arrival of the next thing.


I kind of get comfortable with the thing I know, and worry about the thing I don’t.

Rotary phones had their drawbacks but there was a certain comfort in that clicking sound.

Power steering...I mean, if I can’t turn the steering wheel without help, I shouldn’t be driving.

And I’m almost certain that TV antenna on my roof is gonna pick up something, again, one of these days.

I guess you could say, I’m just not the adventurous type, although I once went to this new place called Dunkin Donuts and ordered something called a Coolatta.

And to be honest, it wasn’t half bad...even though I thought I was ordering a pair of shorts.

So even though spring is on the wane and summer is waxing—which is about time, at least from a sanitary point of view—I’m a little reluctant to bid adieu to spring.

Okay, sure...at times it was wet and clammy, but there were also May flowers after the April Showers.

And if you can bring yourself to look past most of the additional May and early June showers...it really wasn’t all that bad. 

Besides, you always liked wool scarves, plus that winter coat makes you look thinner, as well.

And really, what does summer have over spring?

Long days and soft nights watching Fireflies skim across the Big Dipper in the northern sky?

Beaches, wave riding, BBQ’s, Frozen Margaritas, Pina Coladas, and Strawberry Daiquiris?

Shorts, swimsuits, Coppertone scented breezes?

Fireworks, rollercoasters, mini-golf?

Wait...what...?

Frozen Margaritas!

Spring...nice as seasons go, but...been there done that.

Spring?

Release the Druids!

Bring in the summer!

Hot dogs on me....

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