It’s a chilly, wet, and crazy season – and where are those goats?

Then April came, and Dawning Generation, the show choir, appeared at the Maple Syrup Festival.  Family came once more.  And once more, we all cheered, clapping and shouting for them all, but in particular for the short, bouncy kid stage left.  I noted during the show that the nieces sat, riveted by the choreography and energetic performance onstage.  Afterward, a sister-in-law informed me that she fully expected to see a complete reenactment at their house.  The warmer weather, she said, had already inspired their own small performer.  Recently, there’d been sightings of a certain singer strolling back and forth on the deck, “microphone” in hand, playing to a crowd that only she could see.  The singer blushed.  We chuckled.  Now it’s May.  Which means yet another concert for the junior where he will sing decorously in his tux just prior to pulling out all the stops with his beloved show choir.  Family will come.  We will cheer (that’s what we do), and father will video the whole kablooie for posterity.  We’ve got one more to go.  This time, they’re offering three performances of “The Robe” with B2 playing the part of Peter (there’s some more alliteration for you).  He came home that day, pumping his fist in the air and punching his brother in excitement over the news.  Outwardly, I smiled calmly and proffered congratulations.  Inside?  Well, that was a different story.  Down deep, my inner hyena was going full bore with cackles and knee slaps that I fought hard to swallow.  The director, I thought, couldn’t possibly know what a perfect part it was for him.  Wasn’t this the kid who’d practiced playground proselytizing, cornering his peers with the best of intent, but without possessing the finer points of evangelizing?  And hadn’t I said many times over the years, “He has the zeal of Paul and the tact of Peter?”  Yes, he had, and yes, I had.  Thankfully, the Peter who’s been picked to portray the apostle has become much more Paul-like in his proselytizing, displaying far more poise and perspicacity in his persuasive procedures.  Praise be!      Just one more thing.  I’m finally pursuing my erstwhile exercise program in between the spring precipitation and the penetrating chill.  Two words would sum that up:  pain and perspiration.  After a pathetic attempt the second night out, I came home, perturbed, and wailed to Mr. Schrock that, “I felt like I weighed 200 pounds and had 3-inch legs!”  He laughed, not at all suppressing his own inner hyena while mine, not surprisingly, was silent.  And that’s the scoop for now.  I’m chilly.  It’s wet.  Running hurts, and I need two goats.   Past that, I’m persisting in prayer that spring will come “primum quam primum (as soon as possible).”  Preferably prior to August, please.