Those Spring Chores

Carolyn J. Rose

Nothing can give me a bad case of but-first disease like spring cleaning.

I need to scrub the kitchen floor, but first I need to sweep the patio. But before that I should finish the transplanting and mulch-spreading. Those projects are contributing to the mud and bark on the patio.

Once those chores are done, however, the floor will be put off again because first I should clean the countertops. Before that, I should clean out the drawers and cabinets. And before that I should vacuum the high corners where spiders love to build their webs.

As a result, the floor is days—perhaps weeks—from a condition even approaching clean.

I, on the other hand, am closer to understanding the frustration my mother felt when I railed against spring chores.

But how could I not complain? They came at such an inconvenient time. Winter was finally in retreat. Mud Season had begun in the Catskill Mountains. I longed to be in pursuit of sensation—the feel of the earth, the crackling of melting ice, the drip of and rush of water on hillsides, the bright blooms of forsythia, the songs of returning birds.

And the chore list seemed endless. There were storm windows to be taken down and stored in the attic while screens were sprayed off and installed. Lawns had to be raked and brush cut. Gardens had to be cleared of dead plants and seeds had to be planted after the soil was turned. Winter clothing had to be cleaned and packed away in boxes with moth balls. Closets had to be cleaned out and furniture vacuumed.

I rushed, I tried to find shortcuts, I whined, and I did a sloppy job—sometimes on purpose. These weren’t “my” tasks and the doing of them wasn’t according to “my” agenda.

Now, however, these are my tasks and I set the agenda. Now I “get it.” And now I mostly accept the process of doing them. After all, it means that spring is here once more. Each task is, in a weird way, a celebration of a trip around the sun completed and a season of growth begun. I tackle them with attitude and energy I didn’t feel over the winter.

Except for scrubbing that kitchen floor.

I can’t seem to work up a good attitude or a burst of energy for that.

Which explains why my but-first list keeps getting longer.

Walking the Doggerel.

By Mike Nettleton 

Official Doggerel of the U.S. National Poetry team.  

 

 Ah, Spring.  When I was a kid, I could always tell when Spring had arrived. My father would clear his throat and recite the following:

      Spring has Sprung,

the sap has riz.

       How I wonder where

       the birdies is. 

This, I came to find out, is a type of poetry known as doggerel. Webster says doggerel is:

         Loosely styled and irregular in measure. Esp for burlesque or comic effect. Marked by triviality or inferiority.

I’m not sure I’m buying that. Most of us are much more likely to remember these shorties but goodies than lines from The Wreck of the Hesperus or Ode on a Grecian Urn.

      Roses are red,

        Violets are purple.

        Sugar is sweet.

        And so is maple syrup-ull.

Or:

      A wonderful bird is the pelican

        His bill will hold more than his  belican

        He can take in his beak

        Enough food for a week

        But I’m damned if I see how the helican!

 That one is by a poet and humorist named Dixon Lanier Merrit. I’m sure he was a lot more fun at a party than Lord Byron or William Wordsworth.

The most famed doggerelist is probably Ogden Nash. This mid-twentieth century poet, author and playwright loved to play with words.  Here are a couple of my favorites:

      Candy’s dandy

        But Liquor’s quicker.

        (And sex doesn’t rot the teeth.)

 A Word to Husbands:      

       To keep your marriage brimming,

        With love in the loving cup,

        Whenever you’re wrong admit it;

        Whenever you’re right, shut up.

 And then there’s his tribute to the Burma Shave signs that used to line America’s highways.

Lather as you go:

Beneath this slab,

John Brown is stowed.

He watched the ads,

And not the road.

 Reading the doggerel on the Burma Shave signs used to be the highlight of any family cross-country trip. They were short, funny and easy to recite. Imagine the following series of six signs, spaced perhaps 100 yards apart.

         Every Shaver

           Now can snore

           Six More minutes

           Than before

           By using

           Burma Shave.

 The most famous doggerelistette may have been the acerbic-witted Dorothy Parker, famous for tossing off lines like:

        Men seldom make passes,

           At girls who wear glasses.

 And:

         I like to have a martini.

            Two at the very most.

            After three I’m under the table.

            After four I’m under the host.

 Carolyn and I had to smile on a recent visit to Camas, a small, artsy town along the Columbia River east of Vancouver. A sign outside a brewpub read:

        Rose are red,

           violets are purple.

           Poetry is hard.

           Let’s have a beer.

 You’re invited to submit your own favorite doggerel through the comments section on this blog.