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In case you weren’t keeping track, yesterday was the vernal equinox, ostensibly the first day of Spring. Several things happened in honor of the holiday, most notably the fact that I woke my trusty Chacos from their months of hibernation (not counting their brief ascension in my wardrobe in Cancun) and strode boldly and stupidly outside in them. I could barely feel my toes by the time I got to work that morning, but at least I was doing my part to usher in the season and its leafy greenness. Around Christmas I had sworn an oath to a fellow bearded hippie to not shave before the equinox, but I broke that one in Cancun, so the day was robbed of another important milestone. The good people at Wells Fargo bank, nestled in a corner of the business complex my office building occupies, clued everyone into the significance of the day by passing out fresh-cut daffodils to passersby. People were confused by this — I saw several fumbling awkwardly with their wallet after being handed a flower. It didn’t help that the friendly folks looked like Greenpeace volunteers in their yellow slickers.

My coworkers voiced their opinions. Aaron: “Man, I hate equinoxes.” Tim: “Are you going to the parade in Fremont this weekend?” He was confusing equinox with solstice. Jason: “What’s an equinox?” It wasn’t nearly as tumultuous as the time I came into the office wanting to talk about sasquatch. That was an uphill battle, but they’re finally starting to come around.

Posted in Musings.

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