The take-and-bake pizza store has a sign out front: “Now Taking Valentine’s Day Pre-Orders!” Apple left a note in my inbox: “Apple TV: The Perfect Gift for your Valentine.”
You folks are reaching.
Meanwhile, as of Monday, the craft store has no Valentine’s stuff whatsoever, the St. Patrick’s Day fluff is reduced one clearance rack, and the rest of the shelves are filled with plastic eggs and Easter bunnies. I have this theory that as we push the celebration of each holiday earlier and earlier every year, eventually we’ll have cycled the calendar and they’ll be back where they belong again. Right now it feels a little like Jack Skellington is on the loose again. Maybe Oogie’s boys didn’t put that bunny back exactly where he belonged after all, hmmm?
I’m firmly entrenched in tech week for our ballet set to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I’m in the winter section, which the sky was kind enough to corroborate with today. I was warming up last night while the fall dancers were running through their paces on the stage. “It’s fall!” the choreographer yells from the empty audience seating. “Almost Halloween. Candy! Smile!”
I’m finding it hard to keep track of the days on this trip around the sun.
As did the composer, we start with spring and cycle through the seasons to winter, ironically present day. Meanwhile, outside, the daffodils are starting to pop and I’m seeing growth on the roses and the beginnings of buds on the trees. “Go back inside, morons,” I tell them. “You’re going to get blown to Kalamazoo when the next storm comes through.” I’m a part of winter, you see. I know. But they don’t appear to be listening.
Some fat Pennsylvanian ground rodent says we have some more winter coming at us. When I turned the page to that day of the calendar, I had a time of it explaining to my two-year old. “It’s Groundhog’s Day, honey. You see, there’s this groundhog...um...big rat... There’s this big rat in Pennsylvania...wait...here on the globe... This is us and this is the big rat. The big rat comes out of his hole and... Actually some guys in top hats haul it out of a crate in front of camera crews and... You know what? It’s a stupid tradition. Winter ends on March 20th. Let’s talk about how far we’re tilted away from the sun.”
Regardless of what the fat Pennsylvanian rat says, Californians are ready for more winter. Walking around in the sunshine in t-shirts in January is novel but not normal and we’ve all been staring out the window and waiting for the promised rain. If you’re not from around here, you might be shocked to find out that it doesn’t rain in California in the summer. It just doesn’t. This short season here is the water supply for our whole year. I’ll trade my tank tops in for a few more cold rainy days at this point.
Plus the skiers are pissed.
Opening night lands on Friday the 13th. Does that count as a holiday? May as well. Throw one more into the soup.