Elvis Ate Dynamite

Since I mentioned TS Eliot yesterday, this time of year always reminds me of the opening lines from “The Waste Land”:

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

I have other reasons to think of April’s cruelty, not the least of which was losing my brother John 35 years ago this month, but, more broadly, I think Eliot was talking about the fickleness of this time of year – warm one day, bitter cold the next, always frustrating your expectations.

Around here, we go from 70+ degree temperatures to ferocious thunderstorms to occasional blizzards in April, and it’s not nearly as much fun as you’d imagine it to be.

I can’t really complain today, given that it was a balmy 50º Fahrenheit when my wife and I went for our morning walk (and it’s supposed to hit 78º this afternoon!), but it would be nice if was a little … greener around here. The trees seem to be jealously guarding their leaves.

Which – speaking of memories – reminds me of our first trip to Ireland four years ago. We spent a week in Dublin in late April to celebrate my 60th birthday (I highly recommend this), and what immediately struck us as we headed out of Shannon Airport was how green it was. Yes, it’s cliché, but spring in Ireland is spring, if you know what I mean. Coming from the Chicago area, we felt like Dorothy landing in Oz for the first time

A quick look at St. Stephen’s Green in late April confirms this:

But whatever counts for spring here comes only begrudgingly. And then, in an instant, it turns into oppressively hot summer.

So, I guess I’ll take what I can. 78º in the third week of April will have to do. Even if the trees are still skeletal and bare. And who knows. We may be shoveling snow next week.