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Here in the northern hemisphere, something wonderful will happen today, at precisely 5:58 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. But who’s counting? I am.
For some of you, winter is just the best, your favorite season, and you’re probably mourning it’s passing. To you I say, go south then, fall into autumn. Leave or leaves or fall foliage us alone. To the rest of us north-of-the-equator revelers, I say, I sing, I shout—we did it! Again! Survived another winter of our dark discombobulated discontent.
I’m too old to be stupid and too world-weary to believe a simple turn of the planet will launch us into better times. But like it or not I’m a hard-wired optimist. Always expecting something better on the horizon. Always believing even in the dark times that dawn is coming.
This too shall pass. Spring is only here until June, but while we have it let’s enjoy it.
Why do I love spring so much? Maybe because I was raised in sunnier climes. Like Southern California. I certainly did not grow up in sunnier times. The sixties? Good grief. Or more accurately, bad grief. Political assassinations, demonstrations, remonstrations. Wars, riots, fire hoses used not to put out fires but to mow down people fighting for their basic rights. As human beings. What social media does today, television did back then. Brought the war into our homes, showed us things we didn’t want to see. In black and white.
But just for today, I will put all of that aside, -- the problems we faced back then, the problems we face right now - or rather find comfort in a song I learned the summer between 6th grade and 7th grade. When I auditioned for the part of Hilda Von Gleck, the Burgermeister's daughter in the musical production of “Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates.”
What? You’ve never heard of this play? Perfectly understandable. It was co-written by Ms. Dorothy Martin, an English teacher at El Rodeo School in Beverly Hills, California. As I recall Ms, or as she was known back then, Miss. Martin sported a fashion-forward hair color of dainty pink. She was of a certain age and she penned this musical play with another teacher, a man whose name I forget. Sorry, sir.
My part was small, but my aspirations large. And I loved learning my lines, my dance steps, and the songs we all sang in one happy hellacious chorus. Most of the play I have mercifully forgotten, which is probably all for the best. But the curtain raiser for act two (God help us and apologies to the parents who had better things to do back then than to watch middle schoolers on stage) was a song sang by a rising 8th grader whose name I also forget. The song was called, “Hello Springtime” I remember every word of it.
And like it or not, no matter who is in the White House, no matter where I am living, or what I am doing, on the first day of spring, the lyrics of this song come back to me in full force. And I sing them to myself - and to anyone else who happens to be around (usually a family member with enough unconditional love in her heart to tolerate the annual rendition, though with this heads up she will probably send me to voicemail this year.)
The song begins with a verse or two which is followed by a never-ending, ever upward modulating chorus.
Verse One --
The winter is fine for skating, the mercury falls to ten
But now and then, I will get a yen, to be nice and warm again
Verse Two --
I know that the spring is coming, and soon a lark will be heard
And then they’ll sneeze and their lips will freeze, in the middle of a word
(bridge)
We’ve shivered and shuddered and shook
Now all of a sudden -- well look!
Chorus --
Hello Springtime!
Where’ve you been?
Good old Springtime, come on in!
It’s time we put away those snowshoes
And pretty soon we’ll feel like wearing no shoes
Hello sunlight, shine on down!
We’re all glad you’re back in town
Goodbye winter, everybody sing
Hello Spring!
Gentle readers, this terribly unforgettable tune predates the show stopping “Springtime for Hitler” from the 1967 movie “The Producers” by a full year. Maybe Mel Brooks saw our little public school production? Probably not. Although I think he would have loved it if he did.
We live in hard times for humor. Not much is funny anymore. And that’s ok, jokes are a distraction when there’s work to be done. But joy moves us onward, together, in droves. Joy keeps us going, gives us purpose, and hope. Laughter is easy and often cruel and at the expense of others. A good friend of mine used to tell me, sternly, not ANYTHING for a joke. There are limits, there is decency. Ridicule should never to be aimed like a fire hose at others.
Happiness is hard work. And best when served at a banquet table where all are welcome.
Spring arrives today, in the northern hemisphere, for everyone - no one is left out, no one is denied it. And for everyone south of the equator, the first day of fall is also festive, in fact, it’s my second favorite day of the year. I just don’t have an off off off off off off Broadway show tune to celebrate its arrival.
Maybe I’ll write one. “It Oughta be Autumn.”
Or not.
