Blooms

I had never fully appreciated springtime until this year. Growing up, the Springtime Tallahassee Parade was a big annual event, where much ado was made about blooming azaleas and whether the figurehead of Andrew Jackson should be allowed to lead the procession since he was a racist and a slaughterer of Indians (www.springtimetallahassee.org). I don't know whether the parade was fun to watch because I always had to be in it, doing back flips, twirling a baton, or playing a saxophone--in my progression from Tumbling Tot to band nerd. Spring in Florida means that summer is about a week away, which means that the backs of your legs are going to be sticking to the car seat for the next four months. What's fun about that?

Since spring in Florida was so short as to be almost undetectable, I just didn't know how great it could be until I spent the winter in Romania. It's kind of wimpy of me to say this, because Romania's winter is pretty similar to Pennsylvania's. But with the gray concrete buildings and the drizzly fog, it just feels longer and colder. People slog around Bucharest in rubber boots with their faces all scrunched up, looking mean and grouchy. And then, during the five days I was in Italy, a miracle occurred. The sun came out, the snow melted, the leaves sprouted from the tree branches, and the dog turds thawed on the sidewalk. I have been watching this reawakening with fascination and relief. The flower shops seem to have doubled in number. Dandelions have sprouted along the roads. Kiosks for books, sunglasses, and Easter kitsch have emerged in front of the KFC in Piata Romana, and the slogging and scrunching has eased into a stroll. The beggars are returning to the streets; homeless gypsy mothers and babies and children, old women in headscarves, alcoholics and amputees.

One of the most impressive things of all is the transformation of Herestrau Park.

At some point during the thaw, the city must've sent out an army of Pansy Elves to do a massive landscaping job around all the fountains and gazebos. Bucharest can't get its shit together to fill a pothole, but they sure know how to plant their flowers. Herestrau+springtime+outdoor cafe+vanilla frappe=happiness.