Coonridge Digest: Just like the red, red robin, I’ll be bob, bob…

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

"Herb, get up! Spring has sprung! I just saw the first robin!" "Unspring yourself, Freida. I’ve been seein’ robins all winter long." "That’s crazy. Robins migrate south in winter." "The times they are a-changin’, Freida Marie. I think the robins are startin’ to retire. Probably been stickin’ around all winter takin’ ballroom dance lessons and watchin’ the Discovery Channel." "Don’t take away what little happiness I have in this cold, dreary springtime, Herbert. You can’t steal my joy. I gave up gettin’ irritated for Lent."

"That’s ridiculous."

"Not at all. I allowed as how the worst thing for my health was gettin’ riled and so I’ve given it up."

"That means on Easter all heck’s gonna break loose? Won’t that sort of put a damper on the season when your celebrate the resurrection by stormin’ around the house rantin’ and ravin’ to make up for a month’s worth of good behavior?"

"By that time I’ll have made a cheerful disposition part of my being. I’ll be a changed woman, Herb…hip-hoppin’ along just like the robin. Fact is, I’ve spent the whole mornin’ bakin’ pies. Gonna freeze ‘em then eat on ‘em all spring with a song in my heart."

"You always break your Lent promises. You did last year." "I don’t even remember what I gave up last year." "Me. You gave up me, Freida. You were the only woman who stood up in the Golden Slippers Methodist Sunday School class and announced she was givin’ up her husband for Lent."

"I was moved by the spirit. I couldn’t help myself." "It was humliatin’, Freida. Maybe even sacrilegious." "That’s ‘cause you’d irritated me, Herb. You’d just announced your sacrifice of home cookin’. That’s why I’m givin’ up irritation this year. It’ll cause me to break less promises." "So you’re gonna be like a robin?"

"Like the red, red robin, I’ll be bob, bob…" "I really hate that song. You see in today’s paper what they figured out about robins? Some university did a study." "A university is studyin’ robins? Why would any seat of higher learnin’ do anything so useless?"

"They got a government grant. The found that there’s no such thing as a fat robin."

"Herb, if you’re tryin’ to rile me, it’ll do no good. I’ve made a vow."

"Good. Vow away, old girl. The birdheads at the University of somethin’ or other found that a robin will not overeat. They captured a bunch of wild ones and fed ‘em all day long. Said the birds have a built-in fat meter that tells ‘em when they’ve had too much. They even suspect robins of purposely exercisin’ after a big meal. Frieda, I’m all in favor of your desire to be a robin."

"I know for a fact that I have seen a fat robin." "Freida, you’re the one who swore she didn’t see ‘em all winter while they were hoppin’ around our Pontiac."

"And if you are tryin’ to get me to bust my Lenten pledge with this story about fat robins, you can just forget it, Herb. Nothin’ is gonna break my new springtime disposition."

"Not even a fat robin?"

"I don’t care if it’s dyslexic woodpecker. I have set my smile on automatic pilot. Nothin’ you say is gonna rattle me in any way. My resolve is unshakable!"

"So be it."

"There really ain’t any fat robins?"

"Not one blubbery feather. There’s nothin’ more reliable than a governmental study."

"Dern. How long you reckon frozen pies will keep?"

"Until…."

"Until what?"

"The red, red robin comes…"

"Herb, I really hate that song."

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.