Posted tagged ‘spring’

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“Don’t let schooling interfere with your education.”

March 12, 2012

The day is glorious. I have been outside sitting and reading the paper in the sun. Begrudgingly I came inside to write Coffee and hope for a quick inspiration so I can go back outside. Gracie has been in the yard all morning. This is her lie in the sun on the grass and take a nap sort of weather. Ah, the life of a pampered pet!

I know exactly why it is called a spring in your step, and I think it’s a metaphor having nothing to do with the verb spring. Today I feel more alive than I have. Today is warm and sunny and the sort of day which makes the heart sing. It is a hopeful day as spring always bring hope and a new beginning.

My garden is filled with shoots, and the first crocus is in bloom. It’s yellow. I can also see the knobs on the top of the hyacinth and two daffodils are tall and heavy with buds. The air smells sweet.

I used to love to walk to school on days like today. I’d shed my winter coat and mittens and wear only a sweater under my spring jacket. My friends and I always took our time walking when the weather was this beautiful as we knew we’d spend most of the day locked in and sitting at our desks. I used to look longingly out the windows and wish I were outside in the  sun. It seemed such a waste to be learning fractions when I could be running in the field with the warm sun on my face. Recess made it even nore difficult to go back into the building.

When I was in the 8th grade, I used to hide my lunch bag, no more lunch boxes at the sophisticated age of  thirteen, and I’d leave as if I were going home for lunch. My friend Jimmy, always a co-conspirator, came with me. We’d find a bench in the sun up the street near the town hall and eat lunch then we’d go back to school. Sometimes we were really late returning, long after the bell, and we’d tell Sister Hildergarde we were at the library or talking to some priest or other. She always nodded, and we’d take our seats. On a few really beautiful spring days we’d leave early telling some story about where we were going which Sister Hildergarde always bought. We were a clever pair, Jimmy and I, and maybe even a bit devious.

Categories: Musings
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“Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.”

February 28, 2012

Pseudo winter is the best I can call this. Today it is already 46° though tonight will be more typically winter, in the 20’s, but I don’t care. Night always finds me cozy and warm and at home. The weatherman says snow later in the week and predicts the cape will get less than an inch before the snow turns to rain. Boston may get more snow than we will but right now it may also have a new record for the least amount of snow as little more than 7 inches has fallen so far this whole winter, but March sometimes surprises us with a snow storm or two.

My garden is awash with green shoots, and the daffodil buds are prominent: there are four now. Last fall I planted all sorts of bulbs, and I don’t remember what is where on purpose. I want surprise when the flowers bloom and color returns to my garden.

Spring officially arrives on March 20th, and that is cause for celebration. My friends and I will go to the beach to see the sunrise on that first spring morning. Usually it is freezing. We sit in our beach chairs as if it were summer, but we wear winter hats and coats and wrap blankets around us as we wait and watch for the sky to lighten. The first beams appear then the top of the sun. We watch as more and more of the sun appears over the jetty. When morning has finally broken, we applaud and give a welcome to spring then we run for the warmth of the car. We go out for breakfast and toast the arrival of spring.

My mother was always surprised and wonderfully grateful when we gave her our bouquets, the dandelions picked off the lawn. She’d gush a bit, take our gifts and put them in a glass, usually a jelly glass, and then in the center of the table. We always thought they were the most beautiful yellow flowers ever, and I still think of that every time I see a dandelion. In my memory they are gifts.

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“I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colors. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.”

February 20, 2012

By this time of year people are usually complaining about the cold and the snow and the whereabouts of spring. You meet someone in the supermarket and right away the conversation turns to the weather where you have common grounds about which to chat as you choose your pasta. The word cold is bandied about as people whine and complain and you pick the ziti. This year, though, is entirely different. Cold has a new definition and complaining has taken a different form. Now we complain when the weather is in the 30’s, a temperature which used to be a reprieve from the freezing days of past winters. Today is 35°, and I think it cold. The weatherman predicts the rest of the week will be in the 40’s and Thursday will be close to 50°. That’s winter, at least this year, and I have no complaints.

This morning I noticed all the green shoots in the garden close to the house. I can see three daffodil bulbs, but I forget what flowers the rest of the shoots belong to. Last fall I planted a bundle of different bulbs so I have no idea what’s coming. I figure that’s like getting a gift from spring.

Summer clothes are always the brightest. Winter clothes seem drab by comparison, and I think that the whole color thing ought to be reversed. In winter we should be dressed as brightly as we can be in orange and yellow and pinks and violets and all their combinations. Usually it is Easter which brings back the color in clothes, and that’s not when we need it. By Easter the world has already begun to color itself in bright blossoms and flowers and berries. The gardens are alive and the tree leaves are fresh and bright. It is in winter when we should be at our most brilliant.

Today I will wear the brightest color I can find, maybe even a Hawaiian shirt. I know I’ll have to wear a long sleeve something underneath to keep me warm, but that’s okay. It’s the color you can see that’s important.

In case you’re wondering, I’m that bedazzling shopper in the pasta aisle.

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“Dusting is a good example of the futility of trying to put things right. As soon as you dust, the fact of your next dusting has already been established.”

February 9, 2012

On the ground this morning was a dusting of snow. I even hesitate to use dusting to describe that snow, but I don’t know a smaller word for the amount on the ground. When I went to get the papers, the air reminded me of early spring when the mornings are chilly but hint of a warmer day. It is only 39° now but it is supposed to be in the mid-40’s later. I know this is only February, and I know spring is a long way off, but I can’t help but think of spring on a day like today.

More and more shoots are above the ground in my front garden. A seed catalogue comes every day, and I look through it trying to decide what flowers to add to my garden this year. I have a side garden now which runs along the driveway and needs filling. I have a feeling the garden store staff will applaud every time they see me coming. There might even be balloons!

Today is in-house chore day with washing to do, plants to water, my bed to change and a few places which need polishing. The book-case is so disgusting I could write a novel in all the dust. I’d need a clever title or I could just steal Butler’s title The Way of All Flesh.

Somehow or other all of my doctor’s appointments seem to come in the spring. I figure there is some weird connection between them and the rebirth of the Earth.

For years, I made special dinners and invited friends. I usually made something I hadn’t ever made before because I enjoyed hunting through cookbooks, imagining how the foods would fit together and then preparing the dishes. Lately I’ve been saving recipes and thinking about cooking again. I also just bought a new cupcake pan and want to give it a try. I’ve always been a cake person, but I’m willing to branch out to make a few of cake’s smaller relatives.

Well, the dust is calling me and I need to get the wash going. Today is just going to be one of those days. I’ll hate it, but at the end, even all that cleaning will give me a sense of accomplishment.

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“Never take a job where winter winds can blow up your pants.”

January 16, 2012

Today is a balmy 27°. Last night went into single digits, but I’m not complaining. This has been too warm a winter to warrant any complaints. Not only that but it’s already mid-January, and we haven’t had any snow. I guess my sled will stay in the cellar for a while longer.

I crave color. The world is just so drab after Christmas. Dead leaves hang on the branches, and the tall brown trunks of pine trees stand silhouetted against a muted blue sky. Here and there people still have Christmas lights lit every night, and I appreciate their gestures. I buy cut flowers for the house around this time of year. Their colors remind me that there will be a spring. I just have to be more patient.

My house is a dust bowl. I think I saw Tom Joad upstairs the other day so I’ve made the committment to dust and polish this room today. It is where I spend the most time so it will get the most attention. I hate to clean. It seems like such a waste of time when I could be reading or doing absolutely nothing. Also, the plants need to be watered. It sounds like a work day to me.

Yesterday afternoon I just couldn’t get warm. I was chilled to the bone. I turned up the heat, but that didn’t help. I added a few layers, a long sleeve shirt under my sweatshirt and a pair of socks over my cozies, but they didn’t help either. A cup of coffee tasted great, but only my hands around the cup got warm for only a short while. I tried to take a nap under the down comforter but still felt chilled so I couldn’t fall asleep. My feet were the worst. They were freezing so put on wool socks. Finally my feet got warm and the warmth spread. I was comfortable all evening and thankful for my wool socks even if they do have a few holes.

Last week was really busy. This week is an empty dance card. I won’t see another person until Thursday for our weekly trivia night. Summer is filled with people and voices and sounds. The winter is silent.

Categories: Musings
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“I have a trunk containing continents.”

May 2, 2011

I never much mention the news. I figure we all get enough of it, but I was taken with the President’s speech formally acknowledging the death of Osama Bin Laden. I immediately had two reactions. One was gladness and relief, but the other was the memory of the Hydra. That last one  scares me.

Today is much like yesterday: warm in the sun and chilly in the shade. It’s a typical spring day on Cape Cod. Leaves have finally appeared on many of the trees, and they’re a light green like new leaves always are. Only the oak trees are far behind with their tiny buds. The birds sing every morning, and peepers are getting louder at night. The sights and sounds of summer are getting closer.

The world is so much smaller now. Hopping a plane is no big deal. People take it as a matter of fact. Gone are the suits and dresses of the old time travelers. Comfort is more important. I, who have traveled to so many places, still get excited no matter where I’m going. It’s the anticipation. I buy new clothes, read travel books, decide what I want to see and where I might stay, but I always leave room for the unexpected. That’s the best part of any trip.

I’m already excited about Ghana. I’ve bought my new clothes, have read travel books and been roaming on line. My friend Ralph said it will be so different and yet still the same. He’s right. In my memory are sights and smells I expect to meet again, and I can hardly wait until my first market day. I know Accra is enormous now, and Bolga is much bigger than it was, but the small villages and the family compounds appear to be the same. My mouth is watering in anticipation of my first taste of kelewele and of Guinea fowl covered in red pepper and wrapped in fresh Ghanaian bread. I wish my trip was tomorrow.

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“Can we conceive what humanity would be if it did not know the flowers?”

April 16, 2011

Rain coming tomorrow-what a surprise. (I hope you can hear the sarcasm as you read that first sentence.) Today will be cloudy and chilly all day. I guess clouds and rain are the prices we have to pay for the two days of sunshine we had. The confirmation for my trip was e-mailed yesterday. I fly from Boston to Frankfurt to Accra and on the way back I fly Accra to Dulles to Boston. It’s amazing when dreams and wishes come true.

Bright male goldfinches are at the feeders, and the garden in front of the house is a riot of colors with yellows and purples and blues. They are from the bulbs I planted last fall. The spawns of Satan ate the tulips. From my window here, I can see buds on the oak trees in the backyard. The buds are still tiny but finally visible. The buds on the forsythia in front have tinges of yellow. I have to go and get the dog treats I didn’t get yesterday, and I know I won’t walk away from Agway without a plant or two. I can’t help it. Also, my herb garden needs to be totally replanted. That’s always fun and has to be done early as the herbs tend to sell and be gone faster than the flowers. The peepers are back, another sign that spring is here. Night sounds will soon fill the air. My neighbors came back from Florida yesterday, another sign of spring.

When I take a trip, I usually buy a few new clothes. Without travel, I’d probably wear nothing but threadbare pants and shirts which I really wouldn’t mind all that much. I ordered a summer dress which for me is an OMG sort of purchase, a shirt and a new pair of pants. I figured I’d have a couple of dresses made in Ghana, but I won’t have time before the festivities so I had to order one. A few more clothing items are on the list, but I’ll hold off until closer to the trip. I do want light luggage. Coming back from Morocco was a horror story as I had to haul the heaviest suitcase from one terminal to another. I figure it’s best not to start with an empty suitcase already heavy, and I know I’ll be buying gifts to bring back and add to the weight. So much to do!

Well, I’m having left over pizza for breakfast, and I’m hungry so I’ll end here.

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“Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment.”

March 23, 2011

The sky is white gray, and it’s cold outside. The paper said snow this evening and tomorrow, not much accumulation, but the mere thought of any bit of snow in late March is just beyond the pale. My father always said snow this time of year is poor man’s fertilizer, and that is about as optimistic as I can be with the weather prediction.

My back is hurting so today is a lazy day. My only chores are paying a few bills, watering the plants and refilling the feeders. I miss seeing my birds.

March always seemed the longest month to me even when I was a kid, and it feels the same to me still. We had only one day off from school, St. Patrick’s day, and no special events broke up the rest of the month. Most times the weather kept us inside after school, and I’d spend the time reading or we’d play games at the kitchen table until dinner. Only the Saturday matinee and church on Sunday broke up the week.

April has a magic about it. The air smells sweet, and the grass is a brighter green and soft to the touch. The garden is finally awake, flowers are blooming and the sun seems to shine every day. All of a sudden we too are bright with color. Pastels take over from the winter grays and dark blues and our ears feel the breeze and our hands stay warm even without gloves. Only at night does it feel chilly again, but by then we are warm and cozy inside the house tired from a day of school and from playing all afternoon.

I’m counting the days until April and eagerly awaiting that first warm day when I can sit on the deck, smell the sweetness of the air and close my eyes to listen to the sounds of spring.

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“The afternoon passed more slowly than a walnut-sized kidney stone.”

February 24, 2011

Cold is the word of the day and it’s going to be the word of the week. In my mind February is always grouped with December and January and is still winter while March is nearly spring, not yet spring but nearly spring. Baseball fills the sports’ pages, the bulbs are poking their heads out of the ground and the garden stores have seeds and starter boxes. We just can’t plant outside. For that, we have to wait until it’s really spring.

Today is a full day. This morning I have to attend the funeral for my friend’s stepfather; this afternoon Gracie has a well dog visit, and tonight is trivia. Somewhere in there I have to fit in a trip to the dump. Yesterday I had nothing to do; today is filled. It’s weird how my days seem to work out that way.

When I was a kid, I’d sometimes get bored, especially during the summer. I’d tire of the pool, my bike and even the library. I’d whine to my mother there was nothing to do, and she’d make suggestions, all of which irrefutably proved to me that parents had never been children.

When I got older, around high school age, there never seemed to be enough time to be bored. I left for school at 6:45 and was seldom home before 4:45. I’d do my homework, have dinner, watch a TV show or two and then head to bed. Most of the week I was so tired, I could barely drag myself to the weekends. College was different. Carrying five courses each semester seemed like a walk in the park compared to high school. I seldom had more than three classes a day, and then all the rest of the day was mine. I loved college.

Before I retired, I was up every day at 5 or no later than 5:15. I was at work by 6:30 and seldom home before 4. Many nights I had meetings so I hurried home to take care of the dog, grab a bite then go right back out. I prayed for boredom.

It’s funny now. I have plenty of time on my hands, and I am never bored. I read, take a ride, play on the computer or even nap. Sometimes I stand by the window and watch the birds at the feeders. I seem to fill even the emptiest of days.

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“Why, what’s the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?”

February 2, 2011

Today is the ugliest of days. It has been raining since the early morning hours. Everything is flooded because the water has nowhere to go. My pebbled walkway is a giant puddle. The few inches of snow we had the other day have turned to slush. Even the road is slush rutted. We have fog and a heavy wind. It is 44° out, but it is a warmth we can’t appreciate. When I look out my window, I can see the trees, even the largest oaks, being blown back and forth by the wind. The rain is pelting the windows. Every now and then I hear a bang as snow from the roof falls to the ground. Gracie just looks up each time recognizing it is no intruder then goes back to sleep.

The other day I bought flowers: pink, yellow and red flowers. I wanted dafs but the woman said it is too early, maybe a couple of weeks early. Other people in line also had flowers. It seems we  need a touch of color, a bit of spring.

When I was a kid, I lived my life day by day. Spring would never come to mind in the middle of winter. I just dealt with winter. For walking to school on a really cold day, I layered and walked briskly. I never complained about the weather though I did wish for a snow day as soon as the first flakes fell. The present had all my interest, except for the Christmas countdown and my birthday but they were the only exceptions. Monday led into Tuesday and that was about as far as I went. Life was easier, worry free and self-indulgent.

I don’t remember when I started to long for spring in the middle of winter. I’m thinking the older I got, the less I abided, and it continues that way.

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