Bad day; Sad Day

This day just passing has been a bad, sad, discombobulated day.
I don't know why it's sad, but it is.
That's how it feels.
How it has felt.
All day long.
All afternoon.
All evening.
All night.

It was a thousand little "if anything could go wrong it will" day.
Nothing big; nothing ruinous; nothing disastrous.
Lost keys; forgot something at the store; every red light in town; trip over own feet; power strip stops working; internet goes out; etc.

Just one of those days.

It would be unremarkable if not for the sadness that seems to be in the very pores of the day.

I've tried analyzing. The sadness isn't the melancholy of depression.
It isn't the loss of any one or any thing. Thank God.
It isn't the aftermath of anger or argument.
It isnt because of rain all day -- that's a YAY! for spring is coming.

But, it has still been a bad, sad day.

Here's to the new day and new timing being a glad fab day.

Hints of Spring

It seems the winter may never end.
It will never stop snowing.
Snow will melt and freeze.

But, driving down the roads, one sees the signs of spring.
Not, as you may think, in the clearing, brimming ditches, or the yellowing of the willow limbs.
Nor in the increase in road kill or the presence of predators.

The real clue is in the garbage at the curb.
There are mattresses and couches and pots of desiccated plants.
There are outgrown toddler toys, often with a free sign taped on.
There is an old door there, and a busted window frame across the street. (Wonder if both or either of those homes houses any type of ball player?)
There are paint buckets and piles of tree limbs.

Gliders are being painted and left to dry on porches.
Cushion covers are being washed and cushions are fluffed and filled.
Swings are being rehung  -- or new swingsets  are going up.
Windows sparkle and doors stand ajar as in welcome.

Spring cleaning is a sure sign of spring, as all creatures leave their dens and begin to ramble, sometimes half-blind and half-starved (for what? Light, food, companionship? Does it matter?).
Winter's waste is being cleared away.
Light is being let in.
Life returns to bursting-at-the-seams.

Welcome Spring.
You old slowpoke, you.

Not Quite "Christmas in July"

We are enjoying a lovely bout of October weather here at the end of July. It's not quite a "Christmas in July" but I'll take it. I think it's pretty darned nice!

I'm not quite sure what the technical situation is . The weathermen on the TV have been talking about "record high lows" and "record low highs". All of this makes sense to me while they are explaining it, with little charts and diagrams onscreen, but my understanding disappears with the charts. Somehow, I don't think a record high low is a record low. That would be a low low, to be a new record.
Am I wrong about that?

I am surprised at their surprise. For the last several years, the weather seems to have shifted somewhat. Spring blooms earlier, summer dies off earlier. The key is not in the calendar, but in the wildlife. We've had daffodils in February, redbuds at the end of March, black-eyed Susans and Tiger lilies in July. Daffodils used to be "Easter lilies" to us as children, the redbuds are more familiar in mid to late April, and the susies and tigers should only now be coming into full growth. Both of these are part of the transition to September.

September and October should be foxtails and goldenrod and grass (hay) drying in the fields. The last few years, we have had the goldenrod before school starts in mid-August. This year it looks as if the same thing will happen. We'll see the first snowflakes in late October or early November. The "January thaw" will be near Christmas.

But, NO.
Not necessarily.
Here I am, doing the same thing as the weathermen and meteorologists -- trying to put Mother Nature and her business into neat little cubicles (dates on a calendar.)

When will we learn that nothing not man-made fits into our neat little boxes?
Just because it's usually gold and orange in September doesn't mean it always will be so.
Just because it has always snowed in February doesn't mean we can't have sunshine and warm southern breezes that month.

There are plenty of people ready to blame man-made sources for the changes in the weather. Plenty of them, but their 'proof'' is that the weather has changed. That really doesn't prove the why.

Weather has never been constant according to Modern Man's demands. The constancy is vague and steady,  seasonal; not date-to-date, not month-to-month. Weather just won't fit our convenience.

Maybe the solution to our (not a) problem will end up being the time-honored tradition of updating the calendar. That is what our species has done historically when the seasons and the dates have become out of sync.



I say let's keep our calendars loose and flexible, and let us not bind ourselves too closely to what our little blank calendar boxes and our record books say we should expect from the weather. Because, no matter how many blacks we draw for time and nature, these things will not co-operate with the corporate mentality.

Above all, though,  let us enjoy  this October weather in July. 

I Like Trees.

There are many visual delights, especially in rural living. Many people like to look at clouds, or rivers, or the reflections of clouds in rivers.

Me, I like to look at trees. Okay, I do enjoy looking more if there's water nearby, a nice reflective surface. That way I can see both sides of the tree.
I like their asymmetric symmetry.
I like trees that arrow into the air, pointing, thrusting skyward, ready to penetrate heaven itself.
I like trees that branch out in so many places it looks as if whole spread out hands have thrust themselves through the hard hard ground and are grasping at all the air and all the space they can find.
I like trees that grow into full, fluffy or bushy circles  so that they look like huge green lollipops.
I like trees that burst into bloom to greet the sun as it warms the air.
I like trees that say "good-bye for now; Farewell" with bright blasts of red and gold before they are wrapped in crystals of ice or snow.
I like  trees that stay green year round.

I just like trees.

Trees are strength.
Trees are growth.
Trees give, even when they die.
They shade us, they feed us, they cool us, they warm us.

Trees are always trees, but they are never the same.

What would our lives look like -- or at  -- without trees?

Mamma, May I?

Sunday was mother's day. It was also my grandmother's birthday. Were she still alive, she'd have been celebrating 107 years.
When I was a kid, there always seemed a special magic to the day when Mamma's birthday fell on Mother's Day. I can't explain what made it so special, but I felt it.
I can say this, now, as a mother and grandmother: If any woman, ever, deserved to be born on Mother's Day, it was this woman. She epitomized Motherhood.
We'd have been lost without her, and a lot more neglected and abused than we were.  She fed us, she clothed us, she treated us, and she gave us a quiet place to go. She saw that we were awake and got to school on time. She had and kept a telephone.

I wonder, now, how she felt about the inadequacies of her daughter as a mother.Did she worry? Without a doubt. I don't know what her specific worries were, but she worked awfully hard to prevent our feeling too much of a lack.

Did she feel like she had failed as a mother? I don't know, but I think now she must have, at times. Wonderful woman that she was, I never saw it. But, dealing with my own faulty child(ren), I know she had to have had those moments, hours, and long-dark-night-of-the-soul nights over her faulty daughter.

But, whether in spite of this or because of it, she was there. Remarkably, outstandingly, always there. Even when she began losing her mind, even when she wasn't sure who she was with, she was there for us. It was startling to be informed that RuthE was going somewhere or doing something for her, when I was right in front of her, but -- BUT -- it meant I was in her heart and in her mixed-up memories.

That's love.

That's Motherhood.

Happy Mother's birthday, Mamma. We all still miss you and want you around, somewhere.

Some of us know that you are.

Spring Sitting

This is the weekend of the springtime community yard sales, and I trotted out all my stuff -- much better stuff this time around. Dresses, unworn for years, but nice dresses. Toddler toys, that if I don't sell I can save. The new baby will be a toddler someday. Yard tools too heavy for me and ,y husband, too awkward for me.

Anyway, it's good stuff in good condition -- except for where the bird pooped on the youth-sized formal. (Make me an offer, I'll knock off some dollars for droppings)

It's funny that I have yet to sell anything, when the product is more diverse and in better shape. But selling doesn't seem to be the value in this spring's yard sale.

The value is in the sitting. Blue skies, puffy clouds, spilling sunshine. Birdsong, barking dogs, and playing children 2 yards down.

There is peace here in sitting on the porch, watching people passing.Peace in listening to nature, even dogfights or catfights (the animal kind)
Peace in looking and breathing and waiting. Time to rest, perhaps. Time to enjoy..
Time to be.

I need this time. It isn't always what you make, but what you make of it.

Spring, oh Spring

where are you, Spring? The calendar says you are here, but a look out the window says it just isn't snow. I mean so.
Because it is snow. In places, it is a lot of snow.

I like snow. It has a way of prettying up a drab world, abd it spreads light in a dark season.  It isn't rain, and it isn't dull gray sky and it isn't soggy dripping, muddled brown trees. It' snow, and it's clean and bright.

But it isn't spring; it's not a usual part of Springtime.

Last year, we had no winter, practically. We had record-breaking, record setting high temperatures. Without a proper winter, we skipped from right into summer, skipping over spring.  Flowers and fruits rushed to cstch up, and cheated themselves of the leisurely growth that adds flavor and color to the fruits and flowers.

 The weather-wise, in February, began shaking their heads and murmurring about "a BIG one". It seems someone says that every year, but there's usually a truth beehind it. Weatherbalances itself, and if thete is a wild careen on one side of the scale, the reciprocating bounce can be vicious.

Last year, the year of no winter, was proof of that. No winter rushed into Early summer, witha twist.

Make that twister. s.

People I knew, places I've been were harmed by that rush into summer. (For me, no immediate family, but I shudder still at how close it was.) Many people lost homes and family when warm weather came too quickly.

I, like everyone else I know, am tired of winter. I'm ready for Spring.  I want the green and groeing season, sun on my face, earth on my hands, blooms before my eyes.
But if Mother Nature this year wants to bless us with snow -- if "the big one" this year will be the cold covering beyond its time -- that's okay with me.
Coast-tocoast winter suits me more than coast-to-coadt whirlwinds. And that's just fine with me.

March Madness

It's the media-popularized time of the year known as March Madness. Once again, despite war and accidents, despite car crashes and violent smashes, despite missing children and murdered mothers, despite life and death proceeding as always, the most important question on the public's mind is "How are your brackets?"  

Some media outlets are brave enough to query "What do you think of March Madness?" The only acceptable response is of course what great fun it is and how it is looked forward to since last April, I presume.

Oh, they will occasionally cite a negative response so that the rest of the world can chuckle and shake their head at whatever the poor sap is missing. 

March Madness used to be about cabin fever, when winter and being confined made us crazy to get out and just go outside and do anything. Or stay inside and commit murder. March madness was the grass growing and the sap flowing and life surging against the icy bonds.

This modern definition of the term is to stay sitting inside, huddled around (or worshipping at the feet of) an electronic device while watching others run and jump and play. The worshippers then scribble and draw patterns on paper. Sometimes this is for the privilege (?) of being right; often it is for the exchange of other pieces of paper, usually green.

March Madness indeed.

When the green is showing beneath sludge and snow, peeking out from odd corners,; 

when the sun pours gold upon all who venture out; when daylight outlasts the dark night' why does anyone WANT to remain huddled in allegiance to a radiant square? When the air is fresh and clean and by breathing in you can taste the tang of green-and-growing things, why does anyone want to remain in a place that reeks of months of confinement? When spring is in the air, it is madness indeed to remain in stasis.

 

The Summer Sunday Parade

Wrote this a couple years ago; it's a personal favorite. And while it is Easter weekend this year, not Memorial Day, the brrooomms and bzzzes of the neighborhood, raised voices and banging doors makes this selection seem appropriate for Now. I hope you enjoy reading this.

The Summer Sunday Parade

It's quiet in my part of the world today. A peaceful, storybook Sunday morning. So far. But this weekend is the unofficial first weekend of summer, and the 'parade' has already begun,
Not the parades that will be tomorrow -- those are official things, but along with the unofficial meaning of Memorial Day, comes the unofficial parades.
Every town has not only its own traditions, but also its own little habits. Winchester Ohio has one that I've not seen before.

Like most small Ohio towns, Winchester has one gas station and a half- dozen or so churches. The Sunday morning peacefulness is due in large part to these churches. Parking lots overflow, the curbs are 'fully loaded' yet there are no people anywhere, not even annoying loud-mouths on (or off) their skateboards, standing in the middle of the streets blocking traffic.

On Sunday, even the lawn mowers have a peaceful hum. And everyone knows that, because Sunday afternoon in Winchester is the time to take your lawn mower to the gas station. Not take. Sunday afternoons are when we drive our lawn mowers to the gas station.

Yes, the Summer Sunday parade has begun. Church is out, dinner has been eaten, and it's time to fill up the lawn mower for the week ahead. All afternoon, I can sit on my porch and watch as they trickle by. Even with gas over $4 a gallon, it's easier to take out the lawn mower than take out the gas can, put it in car, drive the car, take gas can out of trunk, fuill it up, put back in trunk, drive home, take can out and empty into mower. Besides, it's much more fun to meander slowly down the road, wave to neighbors, enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.

Impractical, yes.
Energy-concious, not so much.
But, sometimes, life should just be savored, and a Sunday drive on a lawn mower fits that definition just fine.

Sun on the Line

This time it's official. It's spring. The sun lined up with the Equator this morning at around 1:30 local time.

I've often wondered what it was that makes the weathermen say "Spring began at 5:15 am."
Now I know, thanks to the wonder of the Internet. Spring begins when the sun balances itself over the Equator.

This concept sends my imagination off in a couple of different directions.

One: Jimmy Dean commercial. I mean, can't you all just see that man in a golden ball doing a high wire act, eating a sausage croissant or something? With every teetering step he takes -- or maybe a little jouncy-bounce -- big old flowers wearing people faces look up at him and "Oooooh!" Or maybe just uncurl and stretch, stretch, stretch. And Mr Sun hands them out sandwiches so they can start their time off right.

Two: The definition of the Equator is an imaginary line around the earth. At least. that's the definition in the article I read. Doesn't mention anything about the imaginary line being there to divide north from south, or to measure the fattest part of the globe, or anything like that. Just that it's an imaginary line around the earth.

Think what we could do with that! An imaginary arbitrary line someone drew around the earth. Think of the possibilities! For instance, if we've had a really bad winter and want to be done with it, we can drop that imaginary line a few degrees south. Then we can announce that it's an early spring! Never mind that Buffalo is still buried, Detroit is digging out, and all that. It will be Spring, because the sun (on his Balance Beam, mebbe?) has lined up with the repositioned Equator.
It will be Spring.

In reality, this year the weather is midsummer. The winter nearly wasn't.
Suns and Equators have had little to do with either, but anything that can present such charming scenarios to my idle mind can't be all bad, and are worth sharing!

Happy Spring, for those of us in the North. Happy Autumn to those in the South. For this day, we will all enjoy the same Day.

Maybe that's the most wonderful part of the day.

ENJOY!

It's supposed to be 80 today.  Not even the middle of March, and eighty degrees. And it's nice. So often eighty is hot and sticky and just plain miserable.Not today.

Today has that "it's summertime and the livin' is easy" feel to it. Enjoy it while it lasts. If we're getting a comfortable 80 degrees before the middle of March, it's not going to be long before the' hot and sticky' sneaks in. Too soon the eighties will be the uncomfortable low temp, while thunderstorms rumble and tornadoes strike in the night.

I sit on the porch and watch my granddaughter playing in the yard. The grass is green, the trees are budding, the neighbors are dragging out their porch furniture and sorting it into front porch and back porch. It's a sunshiny day, with a kiss of breeze.

It's summertime, and the livin' is easy.
Enjoy.

I Concede to Spring

Much as I wanted to put it off, hoping yet for a Big One to  wrap up winter (not impossible but unlikely), I have to give in and admit that it's Spring. Tornadoes have already been wiping out whole towns and taking bites out of others. Temperatures are getting warmer. The clocks have been set forward in the yearly joke that doing so creates more daylight in a 24 hour day. (That one day is a 25 hour day -- maybe it's that hour of daylight they are thinking of.)

But none of these are the deciding factor for me. These things are all indicators of Spring, but they are not the boiled-down essence of Spring.

I admitted it might be Spring when I came home from the grocery store with two boxes of flower seeds.
I conceded that it is indeed Spring today when the man across the street mowed his lawn.

I observed, long ago, that the definitive signs of Spring are when women start talking flowers and men start talking mowers. This is a general rule of thumb, not a defining of genders. Go to a bar, a diner, a store and listen to the bull talk sessions. Then, you'll know it's spring when women talk flowers and men talk mowers.

When they actually do something about it, then it really is Spring.

Prove it, groundhogs.

Another year, another day for the national joke. Will the groundhog see his shadow? Did the groundhog see his shadow? Is it only six more weeks until spring, or do we have six more weeks of winter?

Which groundhog should we believe? Punxsutawney  Phil saw his shadow; the local equivalent did not. Which is right, six weeks til spring, six weeks of winter? The debate, while good-natured, rages on.

Perhaps, just maybe, there is help. Perhaps there is an answer! I will look high and low, and in the most obvious places, and I will find the answer.

From Feb 2 until Mar 21 is between six and seven weeks. From Groundhog Day until the first day of spring is approximately six weeks!

Let's all take a deep breath of relief. We are free to believe both or neither groundhog. It remains winter for six more weeks, when it becomes spring according to the calendar!

Just like every year.

Is it Over Yet?

There are daffodils in my flower bed. Bright green leaves. Big fat buds. Clusters of them, pushing out from the covering of leaves beneath the (now melted) snow. I don't know when they got there, but there they are. I think today's rain must have squashed the dead leaves down to let the green out.

And such a lovely green it is.

In the meantime, it is snowing again in Kansas. My niece just posted a picture on Facebook of her freshly shoveled walk. I had to enlarge the pic to see where the walk is supposed to be.

Last week it was March. Windy and warm.
Over the weekend it snowed again, just flurries.
Today it is April. Rain, rain, more rain. And daffodils awaiting.

If only the calendar could keep up with the weather.
But then, we'd be pretty dizzy by now wouldn't we?

The Longest Month

We know that Nature and man too often disagree, and the month of February is a perfect example of that. February is the longest month. It encompasses the snows of December, the cold of January, the winds of March, the rains (which in February are frozen) of April. Only at the very end, and often only if we are lucky, do we get a hint of the flowers of May.
It is frustrating that our calendars tell us that we are nearly into spring, as we continue daily to battle the blues of a too-long winter. Only four weeks till warmth, the calendar says, as we chop our firewood or buy our fuel for the coldest blasts of the year.
Only three weeks, the calendar lies, until sunshine comes, and the warm, wet winds, as we once again add an extra layer of clothing to keep us warm as we scrape the ice off our windshields. Only two weeks, the calendar declares, until life becomes beautiful again, and we look out our windows at ice sculptures that glitter in the hard sunshine. (Hmm. Hard? And Sunshine? Maybe the calendar is not so wrong as we first thought.) One more week, swears that calendar of ours, one more week and we will be heading out of winter, as the blizzard roars.
After the blizzard, we walk outside, checking for dangers and damages, and what is that we see, just below the stalactites of water hanging from our eaves. It is a different blade of white, tinged with maybe purple, maybe yellow. A flower, not afraid to brave the cold and the snow. It breathes in the cold crisp air and sends sunshine deep into the earth

Maybe the calendar is not so wrong, we think, but then again, we know. These last four weeks - twenty-eight days - no matter who was counting or how, have taken a lot longer than the six hundred seventy two hours allotted to them by our measurements. It seems that we have spent all those hours battling the last blasts of winter.

February, the longest month, draws to a close.

spring in the air

I keep searching for the signs. First robin, no. First green shoots, no. First green grass, no. But there are less tangible signs, seen everywhere in the neighborhood. People are moving. People are buying new furniture and throwing out the old. They stay at home birds are greeting the dawn with friendly chatter. One can almost hear them saying, "Well, Sunshine, when are you going to stay awhile? We've been missing you all this time." The skunks are out and about, seeking their Awakening. Men are looking over their lawn mowers.

It always amazes and amuses me that one of the first invisible signs of spring is men talking about their mowers. Day after day, they've been talking about shoveling, heating, ice, and one day at the lunch break, they all start talking about their lawn mowers. In my experience, it's been as if someone flipped a switch. Winter talk is over -- let's go on to better things.

It will still snow, freeze, blow ice, be cold. They'll still complain about all that work, but immediately change the subject back to the mowers.

Women do the same thing, to a lesser degree. They talk, in public settings, about flowers. In more private conversations, the discussions are about vegetables.

Long before the snow has melted, before the ground has thawed, before any signs appear -- men are mowing the grass, women planting, and let's not forget the skunks scenting the air.

Yes, Spring is on the way.

More Snow, More Cold -- but less of "The" Cold

It is winter, after all. We aren't even out of January yet.
I have some curiosity about what February will bring. February is usually when we get the worst of winter, although there have been a few 'big snows' in early March.
Recent years, though, the weather has seemed to have shifted about six weeks in its changes -- which would have us warming up for spring in February, if that were to hold true.

I don't think it will. For one thing, in spite of the perceived pattern shift, our recent winter storms have been in February. On one 02/10/09 and then on 02/09/10 -- I have the dated pictures to prove it. For another thing, the early nature signs are lacking. No greens peeking and poking out of the ground, no subtle changes in the dull gray branches of the trees.

I know, because I've been looking.

Time will tell.

On the home health front, this nasty cold is finally loosening its grip. I can stay awake now, and when I'm awake, I can actually do things, like dishes. Like sweeping. Like taking out garbage. I am thrilled, even when I have to stop to catch my breath. Because I got so much more done before I had to breathe this time!

Hooray for healing!