April is upon us once again. And in the old Zernutti household, there are the strains of anticipation and dread rising simultaneously above the chorus of our daily lives. While most people welcome the arrival of spring, we all know around here that the months of March, April and May are the time of year that I have gone through my greatest upheavals.
I never really realized the extent of this pattern until a year and a half ago. As most of you know, I was still living in Florida and casting about for a new job, tiring of running my own business and never having a life. Though the events that set the whole interview process into motion occurred in January and February, March became the “sh** or get off the pot” month, and last Easter marked the transition of life from Florida to Washington once again.
This is somewhat appropriate since it was Easter that my journey to Florida began eight years prior. Within a week, under the spell of insanity and lust, I cast everything I had held so dearly to me in Washington aside and took off for Florida, chasing dreams and tail in what can only be described as the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life.
It’s not that I didn’t like Florida. It was fun. Like being on vacation for eight years. It was just the reasoning behind the move, something I call Spring Cleaning, that was the problem. For most of us, spring cleaning (without the capitals) is a common occurrence. We get the itch to clean house, spruce up the yard, plant flowers and cast off the things we don’t need anymore.
Well, take away the planting and sprucing, and you have Spring Cleaning in Robb’s world. Every major change in my life has happened between the months of March and May it seems, so what other term could I possibly assign this phenomenon in my life?
It’s true that I have made many other, smaller changes at other times of the year. I have moved, gotten a new job or two, started a company or a family and begun and ended relationships. But the epic stuff I seem to save for the arrival of spring when I lose most or all of my sensibilities and make drastic and occasionally ill-advised changes in my life.
I have no idea why I favor spring. Perhaps it’s all those drab months of the year that precede the season. The sun finally comes out more often than normal, the flowers begin to bloom, my hay fever kicks into high gear and I get “the fever.”
Case in point. My last marriage ended in May, the one before that April, the one before that March. I took my new job with the state in April 2012, had the blowout with my family in May 1984 and we haven’t spoken since; in May of 1990 I quit a pretty good job and headed south to San Francisco to live with Psycho, only to high tail it back to Seattle a month later. As I said, Spring Cleaning.
Spring just seems to be the time for change in my life and I am not always the precipitator. There have been times when my significant other or ex-whatever has set the wheels in motion. They endure the apparent agony of being with me through the cold, harsh winter months, thoughtfully waiting until the weather improves before suggesting that I get a new truck, preferably one with a large door in the rear and U-Haul written on the side.
It’s certainly not the fact that I relish the act of moving. I don’t. A move across town is unpleasant at best; across country, twice, a bloody nightmare. And a costly one to boot.
The last time there was Spring Cleaning, it cost us twelve grand. The time before, a couple tanks of gas and 84 hours on the road with a car-sick Beagle that definitely did not travel well and a new love who appeared to have it all, and eventually got it in the divorce five years later. Before that… well, I could go on and on with the nightmares of Spring Cleaning.
Last year’s Spring Cleaning was the epic one. It required a 3,000+ mile return to the homeland. This time, it wouldn’t be in a minivan, but rather, a mammoth 18-wheeler toting 7,000 pounds of home goods and two cars on a car trailer. It could have been worse. We had reduced our tonnage by nearly 5,000 pounds, knowing that a buck a pound can really add up in a cross-country relo. I can’t believe my pioneer ancestors could fit everything into a Conestoga wagon. Freaks.
This year, there’s not much Spring Cleaning going on. I guess last year was more than enough, at least in terms of clearing out the clutter in my life.
Instead, I’m adding things back into the mix. I seem to be obsessed this spring with reacquiring some of the things I used to have in my life, from my goofy pirate parade dog Spike to more ambitious endeavors. I can’t say this is a bad thing either as it takes a lot less work than a thorough Spring Cleaning.
Sure, it’s the season of renewal and new beginnings. But I’ve learned over the years that I was taking the idea of Spring Cleaning a little too literally. I should have gone with the figurative, not literal, meaning. That could have saved me an awful lot of ache over the years. That would backache, not heartache.
Still, there are a ton of moving boxes in the garage. I can hear them calling to me and I know that I will eventually have no choice but to heed their siren’s call. Not to fill them, mind you, but to finally break them down after last year’s Spring Cleaning rampage.
In the Emerald City, not moving this year, at least as far as I know, but hey, it’s only April,
– Robb