April Faith Day

About that playful Universe . . .

I woke suddenly, disoriented, with a sense of having slept late.

My snoozing synapses knew something essential, and I prodded for it: Is this a weekday? No, weekend. No, weekday. Monday. That can’t be right. Is that right?

6:45, the clock said.

Ridiculous. I never sleep that late.

What is this? Daylight savings? Sunday?

The house was quiet. No cats scratched at the bedroom door.

April Fools’ Day — that knowledge came to me first, with the suspicion that something was up. But what? Who was here to pull a time-prank?

Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels

In the sudden lamplight, I checked my watch.

Padding to the door of the bedroom, I was greeted by eager felines. My phone in its charger and the microwave clock all agreed on the time.

I flipped on the hall light and made my way to the kids’ rooms, hoping they wouldn’t suspect April Foolery. No one had time for that.

“Good morning. 6:45. We slept late,” I told one and then the other. “Did your alarm go off?” “I’ll help with lunches.” “Don’t dally.”

Twenty minutes. They buzzed through the kitchen for toast and sandwiches, en route to shoes and socks. Coats, too. The temperature had dropped below freezing again.

I watched them hurry down the block at 7:06. A minute went by, then another before bus lights appeared in the dimness and swung the corner, right on time.

How odd, I reflected, wondering about the coincidence of our routine wavering on the day set aside for jokes. Funny universe, I thought, climbing back into bed with a to-do list, my laptop, and the books I was using for today’s newsletter post. I estimated that I had about an hour left of writing to do, maybe two. Then I would send off my Monday missive about a nineteenth-century humorist — a bit of April Fool fun — and get to course preparations. This time of year, I need to stay on top of things.

I opened the book I had marked with quotations and pulled a flannel pj closer around my shoulders, the fluffy comforter up to my chest. Mmmm, I swoon for winter darkness, warm wrappings, and an hour when no one expects me anywhere. Delicious. I thumbed the book for illustrations, wondering if I should copy any of them into my post. I lingered over paragraphs from a character voice I knew well. I chuckled.

Maybe I’d change today’s post and write up this scene of quiet reading instead. Mmm.

The doorbell rang.

What??

Who would prank at this hour? The doorbell ditchers were in school.

Think, think. Someone from the power company had come by a week earlier to warn me that tree cutters would be on the block soon, and two of my trees would be cut. Who else would be here so early?

Time check. Eight-something. Blast.

Probably the tree cutters.

*

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who answer the front door in pajamas, and those who let the strangers wait while they pull on clothes.

*

For the second time this morning, I cut through brain-fog and vaulted out of bed. Yesterday’s jeans, a blue tee-shirt, and a fuschia sweater came quickly to hand.

In the doorway, I nodded while the tree guy apologized for not calling first, waved toward the neighbor houses, said something about being on the street anyway. I held my sweater close around me as though it would obscure the disarray of my hair or add color to my cheeks.

They were here to trim the locusts away from the power lines. What about the junipers below the lines, I asked, the sad-looking evergreen domino train bowed over from the weight of the last two winters’ wet snows? No, he answered. Just the locusts. Darn, I thought, while the tree guy went next door. What I really wanted to let go were the junipers, tall and spindly until the weather poked the one on the far end with a careless finger and bent the whole line.

Any hope of free tree service froze in the brisk air.

Back in the kitchen, I poured a bowl of cereal and considered my next move. I had managed to fritter an hour in pleasant comfort without finishing my post. Time to get serious. While I moved the laptop, books, notebooks — all my writing paraphernalia — to the table, I made a decision.

One change of clothes later, and I was in the yard, sweeping leaves, moving obstructions, gathering tools.

If I cut and hauled, surely the crew would take my junipers in their wood chipper.

I started on the first domino with my hand saw, the one pressing down on all the rest.

One, two, three, I laid out the tallest and heaviest of the bent conifers, and the next and the next, all the while listening to the crew next door. They seemed to have a big job over there. I swapped my saw for pruners and drew the yard waste bin up close. While they climbed, snipped, and strategized next door, I pruned, snipped, and hauled on my side: small branches in one pile, longer ones in another. Pruned, snipped, sawed, hauled. Pruned, snipped, sawed.

Rolled up the cuffs of my jeans again. Pruned, snipped, hauled.

I took a break when the crew next door did. Called it good enough. Kicked off my soggy sneakers for dry slippers, plucked bits of juniper from my hair. Put the kettle on and opened the laptop.

One yellow vest and then two appeared in my peripheral vision, out the back window.

I hopped up before they could wonder long about the unexpected branch piles blocking their way.

Would you chip some of these if I haul them to the curb? I asked. The contractor eyed my work, the bare spot against the fence, the jagged stumps, the continuing line of evergreens.

I’ll make you a deal, he began slowly.

(Uh-oh.)

We’ll cut them all for you if you’ll sign a paper that gives us permission to take them down. We can’t do it without your permission.

(Wait. That’s it?) Is there a charge?

Nope. We wish more people were like you so we didn’t have to climb the trees when they’re too big. Nobody likes to climb junipers. We’d rather take them down now, if you want us to.

(Seriously?? You want my junipers?? But I thought … )

We’ll cut those stumps down for you, take them from there to there, and clean up.

(What day is it? Weekend, weekday? Monday? April First? For real?)

Where do I sign?

I’ll get the paper. Don’t worry about that pile. We’ll get it.

*

Thought the first: You funny Universe, I didn’t need to spend a single moment of that laborious hour sawing and stacking wood.

Thought the second: You funny Universe, look how strong and proud I feel after your little joke. You gave me that on purpose, didn’t you?

*

And the Universe said: Where’s your faith, kiddo? What made you think you had to muscle it alone?

😉

Photo by Barnabas Davoti on Pexels