Beautiful Business

Springing forward into the grog

So, there I was sipping my coffee the other morning when a fight broke out. Nothing physical, but a war of words. I mean, I think that’s what it was, anyway. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but I knew by the tone it was serious.

“What’s going on?” I called out.

That’s when the cat wheeled around from his post at the window, ears flattened, green eyes gone wild, shiny like two black marbles. Just as quickly as he followed the sound of my voice, he resumed his crouched position, looked back outside, and continued telling off the birds. I took note that both parties were engaging in spirited chirping noises. It was pretty clear they meant business or, now that I think about it, maybe just had a lot of catching up to do.

It’s been a while since I’ve heard chirping, birdsong, or any other bright sounds of nature. Winter muffles everything, it seems. All’s quiet under the blankets of snow and behind shuttered windows. Peaceful in its own way, there is something to be said for a season of relative slumber, but it’s always exciting to me when the world starts to wake up after winter. Hearing Fizz giving his feathered friends a piece of his mind was a welcome delight; a small, comforting signal that spring is truly on its way.

This is such a hopeful time of year. Temperatures that had us shivering, piling on layers and blankets in October are now a cause to fling open the windows and let in the fresh air. It’s a treat to see blue skies and puffy clouds replace the mottled grey that’s hung over our heads for months. New growth, new beginnings, fresh starts— this is what it’s all about. You can’t help but feel a smile crawl across your face when you realize the wind hitting it is more friendly than it’s been, warmer, less sharp. All of it is simply glorious.

Too bad I have no idea what time it is.

In theory, springing ahead is something I’m all for: the lightness, the brightness, the promise of warmer days that stretch long into the evenings. It’s great. Love it. No notes. I try to keep this in mind despite knowing that, in practice, I am largely a creature of habit, and the grooves of my routines have grown deeper with age. So, when I wake up to find the day is already in progress and an hour later than I have come to expect at that, I’m gently reminded of one of the earliest signs that a new season is near: I call it “the grog.”

Though I try to ignore it, the grog settles over my brain like petroleum jelly over a camera lens. Everything is a little hazy, a little blurry. The only place that feels truly normal is the car. It’s the one place where time stands still, not for any cosmic reason, but because you can’t change the clock when the car is in motion, an inconvenient fact I’m reminded of twice a year and forget immediately when I arrive at my destinations. It takes at least three trips for me to remember to update it.

I never know quite when the grog will truly set in. It also lifts without much fanfare. In between, though, it feels like my head is tethered only by a length of string, a haphazardly floating balloon.

As a creature that operates more by vibes than a clock, the cat takes it all in stride, as he does most things. His flexible nap schedule probably doesn’t hurt, but it’s not the only thing I admire. Sitting at the window, eyes wide open one minute, closed the next as he feels the wind blow through his whiskers, I realize all creatures and living things experience similar shifts throughout the year. Things are always changing, moving forward, and so we learn, we adapt, and if we are very lucky, we have the opportunity to embrace whatever grog comes and go on about the beautiful business of being alive.

This essay originally appeared in my column in the March 12, 2026 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY.