Sunshine Superman

I'm not much of a collector.  Never have been.  Yes, I've got a shoebox full of empty Carefree Gum wrappers from the 1970s, but--really?  That is just stupid.

Mark is much more of a collector than I ever will be.  And, yes, while I sometimes deride his latest "historical" purchases (read: cheap, broken, old stuff that we can afford), I must admit that his acquisitions have upped the "cool" factor of the Man Room, even if I'm not sure what all of these things are.

 (Note to self:  Take photos of these things and post them so that others might enjoy them).

But, today, at least, I finally collected something worthwhile--heaping pocketfuls of warm sunshine.  As much as I hate to pay insurance, I know that it is a valuable investment against an uncertain future.  And, on a warm day that suggests this ridiculous winter is almost over, I grabbed handfuls of insurance--glowing, vitamin-D filled handfuls of sunshine that I stowed away "just in case."  Which, in this case, was about 5 p.m., when  a vigorous cold front uprooted the patio umbrella and I had to find my cardigan. Again.

I think that this willingness to invest in insurance--at least the natural kind--is one of the most endearing qualities of a Midwesterner.  We know, after all, that things can change in the blink of an eye.  And so,  we work very hard to be present in the moment and enjoy the good things that come our way, however fleeting they might be.

If you were one of the four Lincolnites who stayed indoors today, then you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about.  If you stayed indoors, then you missed the magical, jagged lines of geese who honked their way through town.  You missed the lacrosse team practicing at Woods Park.  The new neighbors, excitedly establishing their place on Woods Avenue.  If you spent the day indoors, then you missed the chance to hear Robins scratching through the leftover leaves in your garden, searching for a mid-day snack. 

Really, if you spent the day indoors, then you just plain missed out.  And, I suspect, the crumbling remains of your insurance, collected on a long-ago October evening--or, as some might describe it, your quivering, overpriced Obamacare of hopes set against a suddenly wind-lashed landscape--well, let's just say that your coverage has come up short today.

Fortunately, it's supposed to hit the 60s again, come Monday.  So, stay perky, my weather-worn friend.  And open up your life to the warmth that will return in 48 short hours.  It is, after all, insurance against these long, strange days of early spring.