The More Things Change

Spring made a sudden appearance in the Sack on Saturday. The warmth of the sun seemed almost therapeutic. There was a fresh smell to the air and only the smallest hint of a breeze.

It was a glorious day.

Throughout the ages, spring has been the inspiration for many great works of art, music and literature. Poets have long described its beauty and splendor. Many speak metaphorically about notions of birth and renewal.

Sadly, there are no poets in the Sack.

***

On this comparatively balmy Saturday afternoon, we were sitting on Oscar's front steps. I had just returned with a takeout order from the local coffee cathedral.

Oscar was clad in a faded, blue sweatshirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms. A black toque sat tightly on his head. He also wore a pair of brown slippers. Spread out on the porch step was an array of remote controls for a variety of electronic devices. He was changing the batteries on the various units.

"This," Oscar said, squinting into the sun, "is the only spring cleaning anyone is gonna see me do."

***

Oscar has lived in the Sack for about nine years. He has lived here longer than anyone else.

Spring in the Sack, in his opinion, isn't a new season at all. "It's the same old season," he told me with authority. "This spring is just an instant replay of all the ones that went before it."

Through Oscar's lens, Sack residents are predisposed to routine and repetition. What people do on the first nice day of the year is likely the same as they did in previous years. It's not a change in seasons; it's a return to an old one.

"Look around," he said confidently. "Tell me about anything you didn't see last year at the same time."

I took a quick glance around the Sack. He was right.

***

From the viewpoint of Oscar's porch, Sack kids seemed to be everywhere. Almost simultaneously, they had unleashed themselves from hibernation.

In the winter, Sack kids are exceedingly scarce. Very few will play outside unless the weather is anything but amiable. Oscar says they're indoors playing with their digital doohickeys and other electronic notions.

He could be right about this.

The most notable aspect of this youthful emergence was the sound that generated through the Sack. When I closed my eyes, I heard the frequent scuffing of shoes on the pavement as children darted about. Amidst the anarchy of their play were occasional, exaggerated shrieks of protest.

In the background, I also detected the dull, repetitive thud of a hammer. This particular sound was emanating from the Sack's centre circle. Opening my eyes, I spotted young Doo. He was lost in concentration as he hammered an unidentified object into smithereens.

Doo has an affinity for smashing things.

Briefly, I considered making some polite inquiries to determine what Doo was pulverizing. In the end, I decided to let sleeping dogs lie. It was warm and pleasant on Oscar's porch. There would be no value in seeking out unpleasant business.

***

The Sack's ten-year-old cowboys had also returned to their old stomping grounds. To be accurate, I believe they are eleven-year-old cowboys, now.

The two cowhands were galloping around the circle. They were in hot pursuit of some youthful, yet uncooperative varmints.

Meanwhile, Tremayne was dribbling a basketball through this maze of childhood pursuits. He had a serious look on his face as he manoeuvred around the other kids. He was pretending they were defending opponents.

Tremayne, of course, is an avid basketball player. He was wearing his New Jersey Nets attire. On the back is the name of one of his favourite players, Kidd.

I am the only one in the Sack that finds this amusing.

***

On this first warm day of the year, Sack kids had clearly returned to the activities of previous springs. From the appearance of things, Sack adults were doing the same.

Big Doug was carefully washing his truck. Painstaking would best describe his attention to the matter.

Small brooks of soapy water curled down his driveway and then along the curb. Eventually, it reached its destination, a sewer grate at the foot of Gordon's front yard.

This is not the first time, of course, that Big Doug has washed his truck in recent months. As long as the temperature is above freezing, he'll do it during the winter, too. But he will always wash it with a special fervor on the first nice day of spring.

Oscar says Big Doug's painstaking effort gives him the creeps.

***

Rental Doug, meanwhile, was decorating the exterior of his home for Easter. He is the only one who does this every year.

He was attaching a large cutout of the Easter Bunny to his front door. A white basket filled with fake, colourful eggs had been placed at the top of his front steps. The front window was filled with images of bunnies, chicks and other Easter-like images.

The Easter decorations, of course, are incongruent with Oscar's perception of Rental Doug as a key figure in the Devil's senior management structure. For the third year in a row, I remarked about the dichotomy of these competing images. As usual, Oscar was ready with his consistent defence of the matter.

"Overcompensation," he said flatly. "I tell you this every year. If you were trying to hide your allegiance to Satan, you'd be decorating your house for Easter, too."

***

Over at Little Doug's house, an older man had arrived in a late-model American car. The car was parked in the driveway and the hood was up. Little Doug was bent over the engine, while the older man stood beside him and observed.

Little Doug's head was buried under the hood of the car. His yellow T-shirt was riding slightly up his back, exposing his pale skin to the elements. At the same time, his jeans were beginning a gradual fall down his backside. Little Doug, of course, is very good at helping people with car repairs. He is also a man who must constantly hitch up his pants.

"Presto." Oscar said with muted glee. "We have the first sighting of Little Doug's plumber's butt. Just like last year."

***

The older man, according to Oscar, was a member of Little Doug's extended family. It was possible that the man was actually his one-eyed uncle, the one prone to removing his prosthetic eye at family gatherings. Unfortunately, we were too far away to get a definitive look at his eyeballs.

As Little Doug concentrated on his task, the older man lit a cigarette and coughed harshly. Then he spit a long loop of phlegm onto the grass beside Little Doug's driveway.

"I don't think we need to see that," Oscar said, looking up from his battery-changing.

"I could've done without it," I replied.

***

Elizabeth had also made an appearance on her front porch. Broom in hand and with stiff, stern strokes, she swept an accumulation of winter debris from her lofty domain. Even from a distance, I could see the accusing glare she cast at each piece of unwanted matter.

Spring cleaning, in Elizabeth's case, is always a matter of revenge.

***

Over at Ben and Norma's house, Jeff Christ had emerged from the garage with his mountain bike. He was wearing a purple bike helmet.

Jeff Christ balanced his bike upside down on the driveway and began to engage in some springtime maintenance. Young Doo, his demolition duties complete, quickly rushed over to witness the affair.

When there is fixing afoot, young Doo will never be far behind.

As Oscar and your agent watched from afar, Jeff Christ patiently allowed Doo to pass him an occasional tool. The highlight was the ceremonial filling of the tires. Jeff permitted the boy to use the manual air pump. Filled with importance, Doo attacked the task with great enthusiasm.

When the tires were filled to the owner's satisfaction, Doo stood back with a look of exhaustion. Jeff Christ laughed aloud and gave the boy a gentle, playful pat on the top of his head.

***

I could also see Mrs. Wonders in our front yard. She was poking around the grass and garden areas to assess the extent and nature of winter's damage.

She had barely begun before she was joined on the curb by Norma and Marion. It would be more than an hour later before she would get back to her assessment.

This is the way it always goes on the first nice day of the year.

***

Oscar was replacing his last set of batteries. Our coffee cups were empty.

That's when Weed emerged onto Little Doug's porch. He was shirtless, barefooted and in serious need of a shave. He was also eating a banana.

Weed nodded to us and then slowly panned his eyes around the Sack. Between bites from the banana, he nodded his head gently up and down. When he finished eating, he looked over at us and said:

"Iced cappuccino?"

Oscar nodded and gave me a brief nudge. I held up my thumb in Weed's direction.

"Just give me two minutes," Weed replied, scratching his face, "and I'll be right there."

***

Oscar took his armful of remote controls inside and went to change his pants. I went to inform Mrs. Wonders of our quick jaunt to the local coffee cathedral. On the first warm day of the year, it's important to enjoy a cold drink. Iced cappuccino always fits the bill nicely.

As I walked down Oscar's steps, I noticed Britney Bitterman and her beau, Maxwell walking up the street. She was pushing a stroller containing the sleeping form of Baby Maybe. Maxwell held up his fist in greeting, as we passed each other. I replied with my trademark peace sign.

When I returned from the Wonders' front yard, Oscar and Weed were waiting. Both had changed into slightly more suitable attire. Weed, of course, hadn't shaved and his hair was sticking out in five directions. And Oscar, of course, was still wearing his slippers.

As we started for the old coffee cathedral, Maxwell emerged from the Bitterman residence. Apparently, he had only walked Britney and the baby home. Oscar tells me that Maxwell is currently banned from the place, but Maxwell didn't mention anything of the kind.

"Where you guys off to?" Maxwell asked, lighting a cigarette as he walked along beside us.

"Iced caps. Wanna come?" Weed replied.

Maxwell laughed. "Kinda early for iced caps, ain't it?"

"Of course not," Oscar replied, "it's what we do every year on the first nice day of spring."

***