Sunday morning found me staring out the window intensely gazing at the beginnings of the first bloom on my magnolia tree. There were tiny little birds dancing around the bottom, hopefully eating some of the red ants that infested the yard. Don’t ask me why I was staring out at a tree that was only 5 foot high, I couldn’t tell you, I just know I was watching the blossom.
Spring normally comes early to the south, at least here in South Carolina. It’s arrival rarely spectacular, but often ushered in with the scent of the Carolina Jessamine and the blooms of the azaleas, and then, a series of bloom, one variety offsetting another when the previous blooms fade. What is not deniable is what the blooms of the magnolia’s signify, the cusp that teeters between spring and the always early arrival of summer, despite the calendar referencing otherwise.
Sunday, it was as if I had been awakened from a dream or slipped into one, it’s still too early to determine which it was. For perhaps I had been in hibernation mode and was slowly pulling myself from it when a major jolt of reality hit, or it could have been, I had slipped into a coma where I was living a Dali-esque nightmare, equivalent to melting clocks. Which ever it is, just as I was about to comment about the big, beautiful bloom that was about to burst forth, one name sent cold chills of sheer terror down my spine … Darlington.
Guess that explained the drive home on Friday.
I had to wrap my mind around this. When exactly did NASCAR season begin and did I dream somewhere that there was a time, not too many years ago that they held their last Nextel race at the legendary racetrack? But this was beside the point. I wasn’t ready. I failed to practice my passive/aggressive driving that was needed to survive the season. Nor did I have my supply of various driver bumper stickers to paste on the cars of those who chose to cut me off and give me the “I’m number one sign”. My therapist will not be happy, not to mention my cardiologist.
Then I started to ponder and grew concerned. Was I experiencing symptoms of early onset of Alzheimers? I missed spring training. They held spring training for baseball right? After all, the Pirates were on a seven game losing streak (eight after this writing). How can you have a losing streak if you’re in spring training?
I wish I could blame all this confusion on the overlapping of the sports seasons. After all, we’re still following the Stanley Cup playoffs. You know, a game played in the winter, on ice, and yet, I’m hearing speculation on who will win the Nextel Cup this year and of course, there’s the pennant race. Yes, I need someone to blame, otherwise I have to admit that my age is catching up to me.
Of course there’s still the chance that it’s a dream. After all, Prisco and Clark didn’t replace Siskel and Eibert as movie critics, right (be nice here)? But what happened to Gregg Doyel lambasting low talent athletes for posing in SI’s swimsuit edition, did I miss this? Surely he did this, right? Otherwise, the world shifted on it’s axis.
Sadly though, the onus for this is on me. My mind is not what it use to be, otherwise, how can one explain confusing at second day rookie running back drafted, with a nickname “The Tank” with a harpsichord musician? I’m still trying to figure out why I confused Summers with Hubbard (was there a Hubbard in the NFL draft?). And there must be more that I’m phasing out on, as those around me pat me on the head and smile politely, while whispering “poor thing, she’s not really all there, is she?”.
Oh well, I’ll adjust, I hope. I’m still a little too young for my daughter to be wiping drool from my chin, which is a good thing. I just wonder, does Mark Martin happen to have days like this also? Oh…and has anyone seen my keys?