The approach of spring brings event plans

Now that the winter has pelted us with all the leftover snow and ice it had stored up, it’s not too soon to turn our attention to the spring countdown. Spring, seriously? March 20 is the first day. We can forget Old Man Winter gloating over his power to tell us what and when to do with our panic; by that I mean a rumor of a slight chance of a dusting of a few snowflakes can send Delawareans screaming to run for their lives,

Less than a few weeks until spring, and I’ve already started to receive the save-the-date cards for events; these usually are in the form of reminders of happenings such as class reunions or family reunions that will be taking place in early spring or summer.

I received two of them this week. The problem with the save-the-date cards is that I don’t remember where I’ve saved them. It’s not until I pull and tug at a drawer that is stuck with my 1990 tax return behind it that I find one of these cards. Naturally it has led to years of being audited; the IRS will need a blowtorch to get all the tomato sauce scraped away. It’s very embarrassing when it’s something you are hosting yourself though, like your wedding anniversary.

Some events are pretty easy to deal with, for instance, I never mind attending class reunions. Not that I attend them, I just said it doesn’t bother me if I did attend them. Whether they are high school or college or maybe even reform school or any other institution, it is not a problem for me. By now cataracts and hearing aids have made it easier to go unrecognizable; who really wants to look like their high school class photo anyway?

My yearbook picture looks like Mary Tyler Moore on a bad hair day.

And the saying underneath always has some brief phrase regarding that path in the future when you know all you want to do is get as far away from your parents as possible. It is the unspoken goal of every high school graduate. It doesn’t matter for me because I usually pin someone else’s old photo on my lapel or at the very least pretend I’ve done something worthwhile, like split the atom.

Not only that, but as we age, the number of people attending these class reunions starts to shrink. Pretty soon the whole group will have dwindled to the point where you could all fit into a cigar box.

Now, family reunions are a whole different form of DNA. For some reason, my flier with this announcement always has one of the oldest sepia-tinted photos in our family album. It goes so far back to the point where the next one will show the group disembarking from the Mayflower as it is docked in Plymouth, Mass.

Those family pilgrims have nothing but the sack of wet potatoes on their back, plus of course their iPad and a blurred AAA map.

The group black-and-white family photo shows a family so stern-looking, they look like they are heading in for a colonoscopy. Clearly no one would admit to even knowing this Addams family lookalike, let alone being related to them.

Still, you can’t get into too much trouble at these family reunions. Half the relations won’t be talking to you by next year anyway.

But there will be a lot of familiar faces, so be careful who you offer condolences to over a death; either there are a great many deceased members walking around or their spouses have married look-alikes.

Be sure and put these cards in a safe place, like in the freezer right next to the rum raisin ice cream.