Addressing April

Dear April:

I’M DONE. Today’s weather? Fifty degrees and rainy.  AGAIN. And it’s TAX DAY! It’s been Spring on the calendar for a good three weeks now. Almost four. Please, April, rescue us from Winter.

Send us some WARM!

I’M DONE with my winter wardrobe. Such as it is.  Sick and tired of the drab, dark neutrals.  Over.It.

Now, October? By the time you arrive, Sweet October, I’m ready to snuggle into long-sleeve T-shirts and vests and encase my ugly toes inside my favorite clogs.  Corduroys and turtlenecks mean warm, spiced & spiked cider and peppermint schnapps in hot chocolate.  They mean bonfires and evergreens and NFL Sundays and turkey dinners and the excitement that comes with the promise of a Snow Day.

But April? By the time you get here, the Christmas tree has long since shriveled up, transformed into a flammable crisp. The palette has segued from the golden orange and flaming red and crisp brown of autumn into the cheerful yellow of forsythia and daffodils, the pastel pink of cherry blossoms and magnolia trees and dogwood, the soft colors of Peep-filled Easter baskets.

The Boys of Summer have returned to the baseball fields, for heaven’s sake! 

And yet, April, your temperatures this year continue to require that I clad myself in the clothes that will keep my aging bones warm when I venture outside the warmth of my home:

 

For the love of all that is good and holy, April, I am all kinds of ready for flip-flops and capris, for short-sleeved tees and ball caps and sunscreen.

And tan-in-a-can.

(Yes, I do. Shut up.)

Give me a reason to get a pedicure!

Fortunately, I can stop bitching tomorrow because the weather forecast promises a lovely weekend here in the mid-Atlantic.  Finally, it may be time to vanquish the vest, box up the brown, and bust out the clothes that will expose a wee bit more of my (pasty, sunscreen-slathered) skin to the sun so as to maximize my Vitamin D.

Because nobody likes a girl with rickets.

Sincerely,

Bitchy McBitchypants Soup

Tax Season Party

My first post-college job in DC was as an administrative assistant for what was then a smallish, regional accounting firm. It was a fun gig – the office was in the heart of the city and there were plenty of coworkers who were about my age.  (Can you say happy hours and hours and hours?)

Everyone in the firm worked longer hours during January 15 – April 15, including a required four hours in the office on Saturday mornings, the sting of which was significantly mitigated by the supply of fresh doughnuts and bagels in the break room.  You tend to bond with people when you work together for 50-some hours a week, and bond we did.

The end of the tax season was always celebrated with a huge firm-sponsored dinner party. Everyone from partners to staff to admin assistants would get gussied up, bring their significant others, and meet at a hotel on the waterfront once the last returns and extensions were safely in the mail.  I rediscovered photos of my first party and I bet you can’t guess the year from the hair or the dresses:

That's me in black, on the left, partying with the support staff extraordinaire. If you guessed 1990, you guessed right.

The best thing about working there was that I made some lifetime-friends. The firm really fostered a team atmosphere and I know many “alumni” are still connected today, 20-some years later.  Not too long ago, they held a party to celebrate 30 years in business and invited former employees. It was such fun catching up with everyone and sharing stories from the good ole days.

I learned a lot from that job, and not just how to unjam the photocopier or work the GBC binding machine. I learned that it’s not easy to switch from the academic calendar, with summers off, to the grown-up, work-year-round calendar. I learned how to deal with difficult, challenging superiors. I learned how to share an office. I learned that it’s OK to leave a job if it’s not the best fit. I learned never to burn bridges. I learned the value of networking.  I learned I wanted a career in Human Resources. I learned that it’s possible to gain five pounds from eating bagels and doughnuts weekly for three months.

I sure miss the parties and the happy hours, but I don’t miss the Saturday morning work. Not even a little bit.

********

I continue to feel the pressure of tax season today, April15, because yesterday I mailed an extension of time to file our returns. I’m halfway done and am sure we’re getting a refund, but I guess with all my obsessive blogging and Facebooking and Twittering and mothering and cooking and working and hosting and cleaning (well, not cleaning), I just haven’t made time to finish them. Hopefully by the end of April. Till then – send bagels and doughnuts.

We’s Fancy!

The Easter dinner table was set… grandma’s china and silver, white linen tablecloth, cleverly-arranged cloth napkins, new tapers in candlesticks, and…

…. a beer can.

Oh well, at least it matched the cobalt water goblets!