Spring, our most challenging season, is upon us, and the glorious swirl of winter is fast fading from memory. Now, confronted with the irrational exuberance of songbirds, the impertinence of yellow daffodils disrupting our peaceful brown gardens and the emergence of leaves shrouding our streets and forests in their garish green hues, we brace ourselves for six long months until our landscape is once again graced with the promise of rejuvenating, purifying, sanctifying snow. If only Minnesota winters weren't so short, summers so long.
"Gadzooks!" I cry. "I'm in a funk!"
I shove aside the pile of papers I'm correcting and say to my wife, "Think I'll go out and sweep the garage."
"Do whatever you need to do, Sweetie," she says. "Just don't make me your only hope for a normal life."
I love it when she pretends she doesn't know I'm a superhero.
Whistling for my trusty sidekick, Robinowitzenschnauser, I pass beneath our back-yard crabapple's riot of pink blossoms and slip into our garage, where I pull the dusty canvas cover from my beloved CommaMobile. There, as beautiful as a well-turned sentence, stands my sleek black steed with its sweeping tail fins, its turbocharged dual-cam jet engines and its laser-powered punctuation-error retinal-scanning display unit. I can't believe it has been nearly eight years since I've gone for a ride in this marvel of grace, elegance and power.
"Jump in, Robinowitzenschnauser!" I say. "We can't stand idly by while the world we love is destroyed by careless punctuators!"
Roaring down our alley at 5 miles per hour, we encounter a gang of neighborhood boys shooting hoops. One of them stands to the side, clutching a mysterious black object and moving his thumbs above it in a suspicious manner. Screeching to a halt, I leap from my CommaMobile and confront him while Robinowitzenschnauser slips stealthily behind.
