Monday, March 26, 2007


Each year at about this time I am rather surprised to find myself completely amazed that it is finally spring. I mean, really. I own calendars. More than 2. Each of them proclaims the day of the equinox. For the 41 years that I've been on this planet, winter has been followed by, yes, spring.

So why does each year find me like a woman in a foreign film, standing at a train station, clutching in her hand a letter from her beloved, sent a year ago, stating that he will return on the train that is pulling into the station. She doesn't really believe that he will be returning, but still she clings to her foolish hope that he will keep his promise. She has counted the months, then the weeks and then the days.

And, behold, off the train he steps. A bit thin and wearing a ragged suit, but alive and whole and smiling before her eyes.

A week ago, Saturday, spring stepped onto the platform:

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These weren't there the day before, but they are proof.

That and the expected temperature of 80 degrees F today.

Which brings us to the melting snow. The snow that was holding up poor Beaker's battered carcass. As expected, he went with gravity.

First falling backward:

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(I fancy I can hear a soft, gasping moan from his open mouth.)

And then rolling onto his right side:

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Truly pathetic.

I ventured across to the scene of the murder, snapping crime photos. (I should have gotten some of that yellow crime scene ribbon.)

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Here we have where his little legs were snapped off under him.

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Bits of Beaker all around the ground.

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And here, you can see the cause of death: His severed spine. It was not high enough to cause instant death. He must have lay there, conscious, unable to feel his legs (numb) or feet (missing), yet still performing his postal service duty.

As this clearly meant much to him, Charles has erected something of a Beaker shrine, his corpse propped up by those rocks at his base, yet again. I'm lobbying to make it a grander structure by toting in wheelbarrows full of more of those rocks from our fire pit and mounding them all around him, with his face sticking out, still able to collect the bills and sales solicitations that seem so vital to our lives.

Beaker is dead; long live Beaker.

Or something like that.

Anyway, this is to document that it is, indeed, spring here and the tundra is thawing, for which we are all, including the ghost of Beaker, grateful.

Pictures for you

(Molly chewing on some remaining trunk of Christmas tree.)



Blogger Karen said...

Diana! You're feeling better then?

Super. :)

I'm jealous of the crocuses 'though. Spring has not sprung up here in Ontario yet.

Poor Beaker. Pretty Molly. :)

11:06 AM  
Blogger Sanjay said...

Nice pictures, Sorry about beaker!

11:40 AM  
Blogger Rozanne said...

RIP, Beaker.

It seems he (it?) is well and truly dead, rather like the Wicked Witch of the West only not as spectacularly or completely.

I agree that a shrine is in order.

Will you send the bill for the funeral arrangements to the snowplow people?

11:45 AM  
Blogger Ariella said...

God woman. You are too funny.

I am extraordinarily excited about Sunday AND I cannot wait until you see my yard because there are flowers blooming all over the place! It's great!

2:53 PM  
Blogger CarpeDM said...

This? "A week ago, Saturday, spring stepped onto the platform." This part right here (well, everything before it as well but quoting all of it was excessive) made me teary eyed. Seriously. It was so beautifully written and describes exactly how I feel every year once that evil Nazi empire Winter has been defeated and the Allies have thrown open the prison doors to release Spring. And now there are tears rolling down my face. God, I'm a sap.

But maybe I'm crying for Beaker. I'm glad you're building the shrine. I want to put flowers by him and pat him on the head and tell him what a good mailbox he is.

2:53 PM  
Blogger listmaker said...

Poor Beaker! Build him a great big cairn and plop him in with just his face showing.

We've got flowers coming up, too. Part of the fun of a new house is seeing what pops up in spring. So far there are snowdrops and crocus blooming. Daffodils are starting to come up and other unidentifiable things are beginning to show.

3:07 PM  
Blogger Mother of Invention said...

I think we should have 2 minutes silence for beaker .........he held so many good bills!!!

I love your comparisons! We got the letter from spring but I'm not writing back yet and am going to take one day at a time as next week is to get below 0 and flurries. We flirted today at 20 C in shade! The snow in town is almost gone. My husband is still skiing and will for the rest of this week as well. It's amazing how the deep woods holds the snow.

6:04 PM  
Blogger Diana said...

Karen- Yes, Supah-Dupah! The daffodils are going to bloom tomorrow! I am, as always, stunned by how fast it happens here.

Sanjay- Beaker is sorry, too, in every sense of the word. ;)

Rozanne- Heh. Sending them a bill. Heh. We're a bit afraid of them ever since one stopped in the middle of the of the highway, hopped out and ripped Charles a new one for not staying back 300'! As if!!

Ariella- My mouth is watering already. (Kitty-girl, Sara, says, "Hi. Mrow, mrow.") Can't wait to see what your place is doing!

Dana- Would it help if you played really cheesy music swelling in the background? Nope? Worth a try. Have a tissue. You're at work, aren't you? We should put up a cross and festoon it with plastic flowers like those roadside traffic death shrines around here. (Now I'm going to hell for disrespect.)

Listie- Our daffodils are thisclose to blooming. Tomorrow, they will burst open. So fun! If you aren't able to post on your blog, please keep me up on what's coming up in your new yard, here.

Ruth- Such a trooper he was. Now WAIT! That's just not fair to tease you with the 20Cs and then slap you back with the sub-0s. At least your husband is happy. We've got a small bit of snow left across the road, just down from Beaker a bit. Should be gone tomorrow and then we're snow free! (For now.)

8:02 PM  
Blogger Stepping Over the Junk said...

Have one built of STONE! (and mortar)

8:12 AM  
Blogger Lauren said...

Poor poor Beaker...

At least Molly isn't eating rabbit pellets like mine keeps trying to do. So gross.

Definitely no doggie kisses for me anytime soon. Blech...

8:37 AM  
Blogger Mona Buonanotte said...

I felt a tiny bit wistful putting away the kids' winter boots last weekend. Not that I don't enjoy the site of the screen door hitting Winter in his backside as he exits....

9:29 AM  
Blogger Diana said...

SOtJ- We'd thought of that but decided that we'd really weep if The Plow flattened that. We also thought of putting spikes, tire high coming out of the side, so it'd get The Plow and not the nice postman in the old stationwagon. We also thought of inc*ndiary devic*s, but thought that'd get us in trouble with H*m*land S*cur*ty.

Plus, we're really, really lazy and like easy fixes and bitching.

Lauren- She did try to eat a mouse a week ago, but Charles got there in time. She thinks the deer pellets are a tasty treat.

Mona- I've moved the boots to a tidy row by the wall of the mud room rather than the heap by the door, but I think I'll wait until May to put them in the closet. (Not that I'm superstitious. Noooo.)

11:15 AM  
Blogger Pendullum said...

Poor Poor Beaker... and how long to suffer for...
May Beaker rest in Peace!

9:26 AM  
Blogger Voyager said...

So sorry about beaker.
(Is Molly as big as she looks? I have a female lab / shepherd cross that I thought was big, but Molly looks like she could squash her!)

3:44 PM  
Blogger Diana said...

Pendullum!- So very nice to meet you! Yes, indeed, Beaker has suffered more than his fair share. I'm speaking to the post office about making him a martyr.

Voyager- Molly is biggish for a female Shepherd (about 70 lbs and quite fit) but she's tiny compared to our first Shepherd, Maia, who was 105 lbs when she was fit (she had a thyroid condition that made her balloon up to 120 until she was treated). Maia was huge, but not as big as her dad, who was about 150 lbs. Sorry. I go on about the dogs. I think Molly looks rather poofy in the picture, the way she's positioned.

8:36 PM  
Blogger moegirl said...

Yes! spring is here too! blooms on trees and no need for the puffy coat!

Poor Beaker- struck down whilst serving so nobly.

Perhaps there is some sort of cast iron mailbox you can buy?

12:55 AM  
Blogger Babs said...

I thought it was spring, too, until I went out in the yard before whilst wearing shorts and nearly froze to DEATH.

I mean, ok, I'm being slightly melodramatic, but I might have gotten a sniffle or something, dammit.

I had goosebumps, for fucks sake.

1:29 PM  
Blogger Jocelyn said...

Do you specialize in forensics? At the very least, you could moonlight in crime photography. All you stopped short of here was outlining Beaker's corpse with tape.

Dang, Diana, but you funny.

3:42 PM  
Blogger Diana said...

Stace- Trees...Ah trees with leaves...Soon...Soon...Very soon... I think the only mailbox that will withstand The Plow is one surrounded by a castle and mined around the base.

Babs- You're back! Thank goodness. I was going into withdrawl. Goosebumps are alarmingly close to those hives. There, there. You'll be living in shorts in no time.

Jocelyn- I realized today that I neglected to get a shot of poor Beakers amputated feet, still in the ground, snapped off at the ankles. I clearly can take no accolades for having missed such an obviously gorey shot. Fie on me.

8:48 PM  
Blogger Teri said...

Cement. Add cement to those rocks piled around poor Beaker.. (alas! Poor Beaker! We knew him well.)

I believe that the snow plows are in cahoots with the thug dead and the flies of the evil eyes and their ilk. Having failed to run you off, they have now begun taking out members of your family. Were I you, I would fear for the septic tank...

11:19 PM  
Blogger Lioness said...

Oh no, no no NOOOOOO! And such a pretty colour as well. Poor, sad Beaker. Have you told the PI you logically hired to check where the socks were at the time of his death? No one suspects the socks you know.

Your flowers are so pretty. I'm a petty, jealous person, I am.

7:16 PM  
Blogger Teri said...

sigh. le sigh.

thug "deer" not "thug dead."

Although, really, if the deer were dead, or mayhaps undead, that would explain much, no?

11:30 PM  
Blogger brooksba said...

Love, love, LOVE your description of spring. How romantic and lovely and perfect and just plain wonderful.

Poor Beaker. He was a good servant. He shall live in our memories. Or maybe rise again.

4:26 AM  
Blogger Rozanne said...


Did you get the e-mail I sent you last week? If not, the gist of it was: Your old pal, Dr. Anne Hirsch, says "hi!"

She also said you were always very popular with the patients. I believe it!

3:31 PM  
Blogger Diana said...

Teri- (gasp!) You just may be right. I can't believe that I didn't see it! My paranoia meter is faulty. (I liked 'thug dead'. It fits.)

Johnny- Nope, no one suspects the socks. As I told Dana, MY socks are locked up in my drawer and have a solid alibi. Charles's socks, however, especially the dirty ones, have free reign of the house. I'll have the PI set up clandestine cameras.

Beth- Sigh. I feel romantic this time of year. Even the mud seems lovely (although my patience for it tracked all over my house wears thin around the 2nd week of April...) Beaker On The Rise...hmmm...I feel the makings of a horror movie.

Rozanne- NOOOOOO!!!! No email. Just checked both accounts (the real one AND the spam one, just to make sure) sob! No email from you. I'm so glad you said something to her. She is so very cool. She was Charles's doctor, too. I don't trust the health (or the mole removal) of my beloved to just anyone. ('Pshaw' to that last sentence.) Excuse me, I now have to go throw pointy things at my email. The nerve!

4:44 PM  
Anonymous perspective inc said...

Poor ol' beaker!!

2:52 AM  
Anonymous perspective inc said...

Poor ol' beaker!!

2:52 AM  

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