Me, I look for the First Sunny Day. Warm sunny day. As in, clocking 68 at least with no wind and a sky so blue you might as well name the clouds Bueller and congratulate them on the day off.
Today, May 2nd, was it. Finally. And what a day to have a list of “to do’s” from school. The First Sunny Day brings out the Huck in all of us. Any hope of work is “Finn-ished.” And so, I took a leisurely 4-mile jog through the neighborhoods. Then I showered. Then I broke out the outdoor furniture and became part of it on the deck.
No sunscreen, either. Just a Vitamin D clinic. I squinted into the sun-jeweled heavens and said, “Hit me. With all you got.” Which is bad English (like starting sentences with “Which”), but on the First Sunny Day, you don’t care about grammar. That’s a rainy day hang-up, as far as you’re concerned.
I had student papers to read. But I had a book to read, too. Guess which one goes with First Sunny Days?
And so I dozed. And then I woke up and fled the porch for the indoors. Cooked lobster is not a good look, and your skin is as innocent as Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Noble Savages on First Sunny Days. It would sell Manhattan for a few trinkets.
Inside, with all the windows open (for the first time), the slightest whisper of a wind came through the screens — a gift for reddened skin. I fell into a chair and mimicked its every bend. Dance partners. S-L-O-W dance partners.
I checked on the Red Sox game. It’s bad juju to watch TV on the First Sunny Day, but I was happy because I got to see a Yankees player lose a ball in the sun. It almost hit him in the head, as happened to me in Little League long ago during the Calvin Coolidge Administration.
Seeing the pro reduced to fundamentals by the sun was good enough. I turned the game off. The clock said I had hours to while away yet, and while away I did until there wasn’t a while to be found for a country mile.
Not if I could help it. These days only come once a year, after all. And so, with the memory still warming me, a happy First Sunny Day to you, too.