Today is a mix. Right now the sun holds sway, but there are still clouds. It is a chilly day. In the front garden, the daf buds are so much bigger now that I can see a faint trace of yellow. The purple hyacinths are high enough for the buds to appear. The garden is awake.

My dance card for the week is down to a scheduled doctor’s appointment today. This is the month of appointments. I have seen my dentist, and this will be the third doctor of the month, the last of what I call my stable of doctors. All is good so far.

When I was a kid, I never much noticed spring flowers. The new season for me meant warmth and getting closer to summer. My father didn’t plant flowers until May. The front flower bed was small so he’d only add a few flowers between the bushes. We had no back flower beds, and the side of the house had just grass and a few trees. My father’s pride and joy was his lawn. He was always a lawn guy.

The second dog my parents had was Beebe. She was found at the dump when she was puppy. Beebe had wooly black curly hair. She was a big dog. She was a sweet dog. My father used to tell people Beebe was a Canadian sheep dog, a breed he made up just for her. People believed him. Beebe loved to catch rocks. If anyone tossed a rock into the air, Beebe was ready. In defiance of the leash law, Beebe used to lie on the front lawn in the sun, a free dog. She never left the yard, but Beebe was picked up somewhere by the dog officer. That night there were thundershowers, and Beebe was afraid of thunder. My father drove to where they had imprisoned his Beebe. He knew she was probably shaking in fear. No one was there. He looked around hoping to find a way inside. He didn’t. That night he worried. He picked her up first thing in the morning and lavished her with love.

I’m sitting in a dust bowl.

This entry was posted on March 18, 2024 at 12:02 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.