Last Sunday, my husband looked up from the newspaper and asked what my column would be about this week. I hadn't a clue.
    "I think you should write about the baseball opener," he said.
    I think you have a screw loose, I wanted to tell him. "Why would I write about something I'm not interested in?"
    "It's a rite of spring," he said.
     I, too, once felt attendance at the first home game was a must, but it was never about the game. It was about fresh air and sunshine, no longer part of the experience with a domed stadium. As I explained this to him, I could see our neighbors outside on their deck. They had set up shop in the morning sun-sanding and painting their front porch furniture, two large rocking chairs.
    "We should bring the white wicker chair up from the basement," I said, as I followed the back and forth strokes of the neighbors' brushes. "And the screens for the doors."
     This was the day he'd been waiting for. Up came the green garden hose, followed by the screen for the front door, and the one for the deck's sliding door. Once they'd been washed and set in place, we turned off the heat and let the cool morning breeze blow through the house.
    "What's next?" he asked, eyeing the front garden where tulip leaves had made their way above ground, waiting to sprout blooms. I suggested he mix up the dirt a little to make sure no rocks had found their way to the garden. He smiled like a kid who'd just been told to play in the mud. I believe he yelled, "Yippee!" as the back door slammed shut behind him.
     A little sun on his face was all it took for him to pick up the broom and begin sweeping. Do all men like to push stuff into little piles on sunny days?
     Soon, he was on our own deck, filling the bird feeders. "Look at that," he whispered, as he walked back into the house. "The wild canaries are already bright yellow." They certainly were. Two mourning doves arrived and sashayed along the deck railing, flirting with each other. Birds began to chirp and sing loudly, announcing lunch was being served. In no time, all the seats were taken.      My husband made another trip downstairs to find the floral wreath for the front door. Its trim had seen better days so I scavenged in a drawer until I found some pretty lilac and green plaid ribbon. Once the wreath was hung, my jack-of-all-trades thought of a few hardware store errands.
    "How about a container of purple pansies outside the front door?" I asked, knowing he'd relish a chance to scope out the garden store, too.
     When we moved to this townhouse four years ago, one of the reasons was to get away from the drudgery of yard work. Who were we kidding? We're already wondering if it will be warm enough next week to rake up the dead grass where Daisy, our dog, does her daily duty. If it is, we'll mix black dirt with grass seed and sprinkle it over the yellow spots, then water like crazy. Soon, we'll be able to plant flowers in our little garden, move the pansies to the back, and put pots of geraniums around the front door. By then, we'll be able to watch the grass seed we planted poke through the dirt like fine baby hair.
    All the while, we'll be eating peanuts and Cracker Jacks.