Obviously, it’s a dated subject best remembered by those who once relied on the miracle of the cassette tape for their music while en route to and from destinations near and far in automobiles that once traveled the highways without the benefit of CD players, GPS, satellite radio or built-in telephone devices.
It was called ... the past.
So what’s our point?
Using Memorex as an analogy, we might ask the same question of today’s official change of season. After a long, burdensome and excruciatingly cold winter, spring has arrived. It came today. And of its eagerly anticipated approach, we might ask a similar question as the makers of that famous Memorex tease: “Is it real?”
By the calendar, spring is here and that should make it so. But what of the remnants of Old Man Winter? Has this tempest of the cold surrendered or will he return just in time to threaten the promising blooms of flowering trees and the colorful array of subdued beauty that has lay dormant since October?
It is anyone’s best guess and we won’t delve into the field of meteorological science long dominated by the National Weather Service and its working counterpart over at The Weather Channel. We will rely upon the professionals in the field to keep us abreast.
And in the meantime, we simply will keep our fingers crossed, and hope.
We will crank up the rested engines of dirty lawnmowers, and hope.
We will tug and tug and tug at the ropes of cantankerous weed cutters, and hope.
We will visit the nurseries with our pickups and trailers and return home with heaping piles and earthy smells of landscaping mulch, and hope.
We will rescue dust-covered lawn furniture and figurines of grey from winter storage, and hope.
We will break the ground on leaf-strewn garden spots with our under-used tillers, and hope.
We will connect the winding hoses of pressure washers for exterior cleansing, and hope.
We will shop for promising shrubs and mid-sized trees, and hope.
We will scout out early shipments of spring flowers and pick out a new pair of outdoor gloves, and hope.
We will envision new landscaping to cover the scarred ground of an infertile corner of property, and hope.
We will put away stacks of blue jeans and replace them with their cut-off brethren, and hope.
We will replace torn T-shirts with spring season sales, and hope.
We will sort through the clutter of a shed gone bad and tippy-toe across mounds of discards within basements unseen, and hope.
We will shelve the leftover bag of driveway salt and sigh a prayer of relief that it outlasted the last February storm, and hope.
We will organize our tools of summer — the axes, the shovels, the rakes and the hoes, and hope.
We will climb atop towering ladders rung after rung to clear debris of leaf-clogged gutters, and hope.
We will launch the beginning of a “Honey Do” list of historic length, and hope.
We will hang the wind chimes, polish the bird feeders and clear from the grounds the wind-blown array of winter stems, and hope.
We will wash the windows, both up and below, and smile at their shine amid reflecting panels of squeaky clean, and hope.
We will stare at the sky and praise its ocean blue while staying mindful of anomalies like the blizzards of March and forecasts of spring untrue, and hope.
With a change in any season — from hot to cold, from mild to manageable and each in reverse — comes hope.
And when it is the lady of spring who comes knocking, the door that should open is the one we call hope eternal.
Fare thee well, Old Man Winter. May your face be a stranger for three seasons to come.