Onward to the general election The fall election is getting closer and closer, but for many of us, this pain cannot end soon enough. In fact, it would be more comfortable walking barefoot on hot ingots than listening to one more broadcaster pontificate about the flaws of each candidate. I’m concerned that the recently reported increase in suicides may not actually be suicides but instead may be the result of people’s heads exploding from all of the campaign ads about Lying Ted, Donald Drumpf Trump, Hillary – emails, Bernie’s Socialism, Kasich’s Zzzzzzzzz, and locally “The man who should separate his romantic life from his political life.” (Like that’s ever happened in American history.)

This election cycle has been even more mind numbing than usual on several levels. The most disconcerting part of all of this is, after having had more than 20 people from whom to choose in both parties, we’ve ended up with five candidates that are unacceptable to droves of us in different camps for myriad reasons. That fact is a little more worrisome than usual. So far, not one of the candidates has ripped off his or her glasses and shirt and to reveal an S on their chest. No super human has emerged to save the free world. There are plenty of flaws to go around, and on most days, those flaws seem to outweigh the total combined talent of this flock of politicos.

To me, the trust factor is the funniest measurement in this election. When you hear the talking heads proclaim that the front runners are battling each other for the lowest trust ratings ever recorded in human history, you have to wonder what kind of ratification of their candidacy that discloses. It has been interesting to see the split between the states on the Cruz-Trump journey and how much further from center Hillary has had to slide in order to appeal to the droves of Bernie supporters.

In some ways it was refreshing to hear a few of the candidates speak the honest to goodness truth about the dysfunctionality of our system, but in other ways, it makes us wonder if things may truly be hopeless. Taking apart the big banks, changing the campaign funding rules, altering the disparities that exist between the wealthy and everyone else, and stopping Putin, ISIS, and North Korea from screwing up the world all seem like pretty big challenges. Add to that the challenge of who gets to go through the day inacloud of doobie smoke and where you can pee if you’re Kaitlyn Jenner, and you’ve got an even higher stack of trials.

As things got more and more complicated over the years, some of the truly cerebral folks who may have had super powers decided to stay at home, crack a beer, and say, “Who needs this?” When folks like Elizabeth Warren, Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, Joe Biden, decided not to run, it just seemed like, the more realistic they were, the more they realized it wasn’t worth the exacerbation, aggravation, or pain.

Don’t take this wrong. I’m a patriot, and I do believe that these people are potentially doing a disservice to our country by not sacrificing their lives to run, but, having had the modest by comparison job of being a hospital CEO, I can tell you that my hair turned gray and fell out, and my heart clogged up like George W.’s and Bill Clinton’s, and I was just dealing with the day to day pressures of a little gig in comparison. Can you imagine going through everything that it takes to become president to change the world and then finding out that you really don’t have much power.

The cynical part of me believes that the money people are the puppeteers and the presidential candidates know they’ll end up wealthier when they’re done than they were when they started. Hope you voted.

The air is definitely smelling like spring, and spring has always and forever been my favorite time of the year. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a special relationship with this season. It may be because I was a spring baby, or maybe it was because my grandfather was a professional gardener.

Every spring he carefully and meticulously transferred his tiny flowers that had often times been grown from seeds over the winter from greenhouse to soil. He tenderly covered his employer’s world with the beauty, the smells and the love that only these magnificent works of nature could manifest.

He created amazing sculpted formal gardens like the ones that in London and Paris. They were formal, carefully groomed, and patterned, featuring dozens of floral combinations, manicured hedges, and plants. His work was natural art that, in hindsight, could never be fully embraced by the mind of a kid.

Maybe I love spring because, like the maple trees that lined Maple Street where I played as a young boy, I’m just a little sappy. I was actually a substitute Maple King back in the 1980’s in Meyersdale, PA, when the chosen king, Congressman Jack Murtha, had to cancel at the last minute. Nothing says spring like the Meyersdale Maple Festival.

Another spring fill-in day was when I was called on at 11:30 a.m. to speak at noon to the Somerset Rotary Club in place of Chuck Noll’s assistant coach, George Perles, who had canceled at the last minute. My speech to 120 men who came to hear the Pittsburgh Steelers assistant football coach was “The Value of the Arts in Our Lives.” Yeah, really?

In spring, there is new life, new hope, new love, and new dreams. All of these things have been consistent for me during this season of hope and rebirth. I’m definitely not alone in my feelings about spring. All one needs to do is sit and watch the extremely amorous birds chasing each other around the trees and bushes. Nature really gets it, too.

Spring is most probably the reason that I have chosen not to move to places like Arizona or Florida. Vive la difference. To me those almost single-season places are a little like cream of wheat on a white plate. Don’t get me wrong, they have plenty of good attributes when we’re freezing to death, and at least Florida has plenty of drama, but the absolute beauty of slipping from the heavy winter coat to the polo shirt and tennies is completely unmatched.

Feeling the warm sun embrace you like an old friend and smelling the sweet air of fresh blossoms is like a child opening a long anticipated present on Christmas morning. Seeing the grass come back to life (and knowing that you will not be the one to have to cut it) is completely special, too.

This is my first spring without my brother. It’s been a long nine months since he left us, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that he hasn’t been in my heart and mind. You see, he too loved spring, but unlike me, he loved working in the soil and loved working with his wife to help make plants and flowers and trees and special bushes grow.

He went to our childhood home before it was sold and then to our grandparent’s home, and he captured, nurtured, and raised the very same plants that surrounded us in our youth. He found the flowers and shrubs, and filled his yard with those thriving, living memories. The smells and colors of our childhood are captured in the middle of a backyard in the city.

He was spring on so many levels, and this year, this spring, whenever spring really comes, it will be his spring.

We never really die, we just transition. This year is his year.