It seems to us …

Agnes leaves, Wood­stock re­turns, snakes make them­selves at home and … spring?


Here’s to Agnes the gi­raffe. Born at the Buf­falo Zoo on Aug. 8, 1994, Agnes never saw an African plain or even a roam­ing lion, ex­cept, per­haps, by peer­ing into an­other ex­hibit.

But she was well cared for and she brought joy to un­told numbers of vis­i­tors and per­haps even a level of un­der­stand­ing that will ben­e­fit other gi­raffes, both in the wild and in cap­tiv­ity.

Agnes died on Thurs­day, suf­fer­ing from ad­vanced arthri­tis and other health prob­lems that re­sisted treat­ment. Raise a long-neck beer to her mem­ory.

One of the most in­struc­tive and ag­gra­vat­ing ways to mea­sure the swift pas­sage of time is by tak­ing note of the ac­cu­mu­la­tion of an­niver­saries.

In this year’s bucket of cold wa­ter is 50th an­niver­sary of the Wood­stock con­cert that oc­curred Aug, 15-18, 1969, and in, well, not Wood­stock. But never mind. There’s even an an­niver­sary con­cert, Aug. 16-18 in Watkins Glen that fea­tures an ar­ray of young artists along with a pack of old-timers who were there way back when, in­clud­ing San­tana, Canned Heat and a cou­ple of Johns: Fogerty and Se­bas­tian.

They may be 50 years older, but they’re still out there kick­ing it and mak­ing ev­ery­thing … groovy. Note: Old­timer is not syn­ony­mous with old.

This hap­pened near Al­bany. A home­owner had crawled un­der his house after high winds dis­rupted his ca­ble tele­vi­sion ser­vice. While he was un­der there, he caught sight of a few snakes and beat a hasty re­treat. It was a good idea. Wisely, he called in the pro­fes­sion­als to re­move the rep­tiles, but what the pro­fes­sion­als found was heart­stop­ping: 45 rat­tlesnakes coiled up, try­ing to stay warm in win­ter, ac­cord­ing to the As­so­ci­ated Press. The pros safely pulled them out.

But did we for­get to men­tion that his was Al­bany, Texas? It’s a town of about 2,000 peo­ple – and who knows how many rat­tlesnakes – not far from Abi­lene. Most im­por­tantly, it’s nowhere near New York.

Don’t you just love New York?

It’s spring. Get ready for the snow. It hap­pens ev­ery year, of course. It’s just that, like any trau­matic event, it’s easy to re­press the mem­ory. Haven’t we had enough al­ready? Still, we’re con­tent to look on the bright side. The days are quickly length­en­ing, day­light sav­ing time has re­turned and at some point next month, wands of for­sythia will hail the ar­rival of real spring. In the mean­time, happy pre­tend spring. It’ll do.

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