Is it just me, or does the waxing daylight of spring make you realize just how much of a mess you’ve made the past six months?
Right around this time of year, every year, each speck of dirt seems to cast a shadow. Suddenly, with the return of direct sun, the kitchen floor looks like a crime scene all taped off for forensic spatter analysis. While we’re at it, better call in the fingerprint team to work up the living room windows.
And that’s to say nothing of the detritus that’s collected on the junk table: old mail; new mail; various tide tables, none current; a Thermos brand thermos; an off-brand thermos; a bag of bags; a charger for something; another charger for something else; an electronic device that’s lost its charger; four non-matching socks; a Barbie head and, for some reason, a CD wallet containing the entire Smashing Pumpkins discography. Thinking about it now, this might be part of the problem: my family calls it a junk table. Maybe we should rename it the “orderly shelf” or the “obsessive-compulsive slab.”
Anyway, outside in the yard spring reveals even more clutter. Indeed, it looks like some neighborhood dog’s been “cluttering” up our garden all winter. Cool—less fertilizer to buy.
Spring has also laid bare a moraine of other (non-bio-hazardous) debris: a rusting bicycle trailer; a wheel-less wheelbarrow; the splintered remains of a plastic snow disc I accidentally ran over—don’t tell my kids— not to mention a pile of cardboard I’ve successfully procrastinated taking to the recycling center for two whole years; that kind of procrastination takes effort. Maybe if I leave it another couple years, it’ll just disintegrate on its own. Maybe I’ll help it along by doing nothing.
And dig this incredible find: at the foot of our mailbox, I kicked aside some gravel to discover a 2015 Yellow Pages, a 2014 Yellow Pages and a plastic bag filled with gross mush, which I can only assume was once the 2013 Yellow Pages. Who uses phone books anymore?
Speaking of gross mush… Know what I encountered the other day on our front lawn? A pile of rotting pumpkins, which both looks and smells like vomit (of someone who’s eaten mass pumpkin seeds). I guess my wife was serious when she threatened to kick the jack-o-lanterns off the porch unless I got rid of them by Christmas.
Now, in some ways, I’m actually excited for spring-cleaning, mostly because there’s no better excuse to buy gas-powered machinery. For instance, last year I got a chainsaw on a pole (best Seward Day gift ever!). This year, I approved my own requisition order for a pressure washer and I’ll tell you, I’m aching to blast something. Like those pumpkins. Man, I haven’t been this stoked since spring-cleaning of 2009 when we got a 6.5 horsepower Shop-Vac. Imagine, six and a half horses all sucking together in perfect unison…
But there’s one aspect of spring-cleaning I perennially dread — cleaning up my own act. First of all, I’m pale. And I mean I make Lord Voldemort look like John Boehner. And then there’s the winter beard, because right now, it’s like I’ve got an orange chia pet on my face. Do I trim it or should I try and go full-on major league relief pitcher? And if I shave, how many extra chins will I discover I’ve grown under there?
You see, Juneau is full of fit people who run long distances up steep mountains for fun. I am not one of these people. I suffer from what I like to call “reverse anorexia.” With me, it’s all binge, no purge (well, not unless I’ve been drinking tequila, which I generally don’t because it always makes me purge).
Well, as a result, once again I find myself emerging from the darker, colder, Netflix-filled months with a nice, proud winter gut. It’s especially noticeable now that I’ve been skinny-dipping in the hot tub a few times (by the way, if you’re my neighbor, don’t call animal control; that’s not a wild orangutan on the loose, just me). Plus, my life vest fits me like a sports bra (I won’t even tell you how my sports bra fits).
Especially with rec league softball coming up — my goal is to go from morbidly obese to just plain regular obese by the season opener — it’s time to take positive action, by which I mean procrastinate a little longer and then throw a bunch of money at the problem (new sneakers, protein powder, maybe a bigger sports bra).
Next, I suppose I’ll dust off the treadmill, itself obtained during the money-throwing phase of 2008’s battle with winter gut. Then come the obligatory grilled meat-covered salads, the egg white omelets, Diet Pepsi by the palette. And push-ups and sit-ups and no beer… well, except on weekends; and Thursdays; and one other “wild card” day; forget it.
You know, that sounds awfully effortful. On second thought, maybe I’ll just go eat cake frosting off a spoon.
• Geoff Kirsch’s SlackTide comes out the second and fourh Sunday of the month. He can be reached at geoff@geoffkirsch.com.
