Can You Spell “Punxsutawney?”

We had a vigorous discussion about movie rentals this morning. You know the one we are talking about. The crowd at Gobbler’s Knob up in Pennsylvania has already dispersed. The land-beaver named Phil has spoken, although his remarks were unintelligible. “Six more weeks of Winter,” is what they say he said.

We have members who started their lives Up North. They recall what the less-hardy Michiganders who had left the regular work force used to say around Thanksgiving. “See you on Memorial Day,” they would say with thin smiles and then the station wagons would pull out of town headed for somewhere to the south.

So there is a bit of reversal in the air between those who flee and those who must endure. Those who fled last Fall are now thinking of gathering things together to head back north. Our pals out in some of the Square States are still dealing with piles of white stuff the length of their driveways and gusts of adamant wind still moving the stacks of snow.

Here in the Commonwealth, Splash brought a ragged pair of swim trunks to the morning Production Meeting. “Memorial Day is 29 May this year,” he said with some gusto. But Punxsutawney Phil will put this strange wet and unbalanced Winter to bed in mid-March. Then we can start getting ready for the pool to open.”

There were some frowns around the circle, possibly a reflection of the fact that there is still a crust of snow on the cars down in the parking lot. Only the swimwear, faded a bit from chlorine and solar exposure, held unrestricted optimism. We decided to go with that, rather than continuing the narrative of wars and nukes.

There is plenty of that. The talk yesterday had veered wildly from Tom Brady’s announcement that he really was going to transfer from wearing pads to sitting in a booth above the field. That we are going to send 31 tanks and 600 armored personnel carriers to protect someone else’s border, not ours. The Debt Ceiling fight can go on past the opening of the pool, but in early June we will be able to recline on the deck next to the blue water and watch the Government shut down.

Loma snorted. He had a pile of papers about the size of Splash’s swim trunks. “Taxes,” he said. “We need to check and ensure there is no digital vulnerability this year. The Feds have included a new question about that after the crypto meltdown at FTX.”

“Isn’t it strange? Now that we are on fixed income there are more pieces of paper we have to collect? Do you remember when the W-2 form the company sent out was really all we needed to fill them out?”

Loma laughed. “I counted three 1099-R’s just to enter for income, plus a 1099-INT that is embarrassing small. It is reported, though, so I have to report it too. I used to give a few hundred bucks every year to the Preservation folks, and the Judicial Watch guys and the Navy Relief. Now, we have to do all the same counting drill just to find out if the standard or itemized deductions work out better.” He dropped the stack of papers next to his coffee cup which teetered on the table.

“Relax. The Groundhog is done with his seasonal work, and so are we.”

“I am not sure about that. Tax Day is April 18th this year, so it isn’t just six more weeks of chilly winter. The pool opens in like 16 weeks.” Melissa shivered at her place near the railing. “Does anyone have a 1099-Misc form I can borrow?”

There was a pause as the group glanced at the “calendar” app on their phones and began counting digital squares.

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