The weather urges me toward thoughts of spring. Take Me Out (about baseball and other wonderful things involving men in a locker room) recently produced at Plays & Players around the corner. New works festivals are a-borning new bits of theatre all over town and in New York City and in DC and in Chicago and …. Forsythia are out in Washington DC. Tiny flower shoots are pushing out of winter weary flowerbeds in Philly after several days of temperatures around 60 degrees, then rain storms, then hints of biting cold, then warmth again.
Editing and assembling paper files in my office, and electronic files on my various computers and external storage and working drives, and sifting and sorting old and new relationships. Purging and valuing what is left behind.
I find autumn, as a season, more full of promise than spring time. One day perhaps I will make sense of that fact. It must involve something a bit more complex than my fondness for cool weather and sweaters and clothing layers and stomping through snow.
For now, it is true. Spring is here. So to quietly comfort me, and to entertain my senses, I present the tune “Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most” (1955) by Fran Landesman and Tommy Wolf. I debated the lyrics for “Spring is Here” of course, as Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart are good for ANY occasion, but I decided to stay with the season and the theme of my post. And my mood.
[See for these lyrics and other content about Fran this web site dedicated to her: http://www.franlandesman.com/]
Spring this year has got me feelingLike a horse that never left the post.I lie in my roomStaring up at the ceiling.Spring can really hang you up the most.Morning’s kiss wakes trees and flowers,And to them I’d like to drink a toast.But I walk in the parkJust to kill the lonely hours.Spring can really hang you up the most.All afternoon the birds twitter-twitt.I know the tune. This is love, this is it.Heard it beforeand don’t I know the score.And I’ve decided that spring is a bore.Love seems sure around the new year.Now it’s April. Love is just a ghost.Spring arrived on time,Only what became of you, dear?Spring can really hang you up the most.Spring can really hang you up the most.College boys are writing sonnetsIn their tender passion they’re engrossedWhile I’m on the shelfWith last years easter bonnetsSpring can really hang you up the most.Love came my way. I thought it would last.We had our day, now it’s all in the past.Spring came along, a season of song,full of sweet promisebut something went wrong.Doctors once prescribed a tonic.Sulfur and molasses was the dose.Didn’t help one bit.My condition must be chronic.Spring can really hang you up the most.All alone, the party is over.Old man winter was a gracious host.But when you keep prayingFor snow to hide the clover,Spring can really hang you up the most.