Today is one of those springlike days March sometimes teases us with while keeping winter in the wings. It will be warmish, in the high 40’s or low 50’s. The sun has been a stranger lately but is back today in all its glory. Not a cloud can be seen. A bit of a cool wind strong enough to blow the chimes hanging on a backyard tree comes and goes. I heard the tinkling of the chimes when I went to check on Nala and what she was eating. I’m always suspicious with that dog. This time she was sort of innocent. She was chewing on an orange handle from a garden tool. I don’t know where the rest of the tool went. She ran. I didn’t give chase; instead, I sat down on the backyard stairs for a bit to listen to the chimes, to their sweet sounds.

When I was a kid, I would have begged my mother to let me ride my bike to school on a day like today when I could feel spring in the air. I’d try to get away with wearing a light spring jacket, but my mother usually caught me and nixed that; however, she did relent on the mittens and the hat. There I was on my bike no longer dressed for the depths of winter. I felt a sort of freedom.

After lunch, we’d have recess. That was when the nuns went across the street to the convent and had their lunches. I figured we weren’t supposed to see nuns eat. I always thought that was a bit strange given Sister Hildegarde hid candy bars in her desk drawer and surreptitiously put the candy in her mouth. The chewing always gave her away. Then there was the time she spit nuts on my paper when I brought it to her desk.

My dance card is filled, mostly with uke. I have practice tomorrow and a lesson Wednesday. On Saturday we are in the St. Patrick’s day parade riding a flat bed truck and playing Irish music. It is supposed to be an ugly day, maybe even a rainy day. On Sunday we are playing at the mall.

My dafs have bulbs, and I can see the start of the day lilies, small tips of green poking out of the dirt in the front yard. I like to check on them every morning. The green, growing taller, is a hopeful sign.

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