Tag Archives: spring

The Air of the Day

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“We may not know whether our understanding is correct, or whether our sentiments are noble, but the air of the day surrounds us like spring which spreads over the land without our aid or notice.” ― Abraham Joshua Heschel

Every year there is that day, the one that brings energy and dirty hands and relaxing and doing and satisfaction and tired muscles at the end of it.  Today was that day.

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It started out easy like Sunday morning in the relaxing and reading and playing.  Toti Nonna has rediscovered her toys.  Lina was not a toy girl; she was a lover who stuck as close as possible to anyone who would pet her.  As time goes by Toti rediscovers a bit at a time. Today was that day.

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The air was so warm and the sun so bright you just had to be outside.  I’ve been trying to make a beautiful space out of some packed soil that gets a bit of afternoon sun since I got here.  I salvaged an Adirondack chair from the dumpster many years ago that just needed a few screws and it’s been moved from one section of the back space to another looking for just the right spot.  Yes I know it needs a paint job desperately not just for the aesthetics but also to keep it together.

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I also had the good fortune to inherit some wonderful flag stone from a friend and today was the day to make this space come a little bit more alive.  So for the last time this winter I put on my duck boots and got to work.  Loosening the soil, placing the stones and back filling the cracks; I wanted to get it all done this weekend so the upcoming April showers would set them more permanently.  I get this is no professional job but it’s added yet another story for the neighbors to tell about the crazy women who’s trying to transform the space next to the enchanted forest.  Not sure I’ve convinced them it’s enchanted yet either.  Some mulch and creeping ground cover and it should really take shape, maybe even creep into that enchanted forest.

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There is something about doing the work yourself, putting a bit of yourself into it that will give it the legacy effect.  Combine that with the story of each of the components and the legacy seems to get even more sure of itself.

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There is also something about getting to the end of the job and sitting down to evaluate your work that gives you more satisfaction then writing a check.  The view from the new home for the Adirondack chair into the enchanted forest is perfect.  The summer sun will come over the roof at about 3pm and that’s pretty much where you’ll find me well into the fall.

 

 

Hope

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Hope is not a strategy they said.  Taken from the context of some very high level business meetings where someone was trying to get their customer, dealer, vendor, whoever to respond to an incentive, process, threat, whatever. Yeah hope is definitely not a strategy in business.  Hope is more a component.

Hope is truly a component of a life well lived.  For me it’s one of the four H’s; hope, humor, hustle and hide.  None of these components can really stand on their own, none of them is self-sustaining.  They need a little somthin somethin on the side to be effective.

As a literary device hope is a key concept in many classic and contemporary fictional works. It can be used as a plot device and is often a motivating force for change in dynamic characters.  But even here you can clearly see it is only a concept there is nothing concrete happening unless…somethin.

Doesn’t mean I don’t love the phrase.  I loved it the minute I heard it.  It’s one of those stop in your tracks phrases that remind you every time you use a word like hope to look a little further.

One of the symbols of hope is the Swallow in Aesop fables and numerous other historic literature.  It symbolizes hope, in part because it is among the first birds to appear at the end of winter and the start of spring

Spring actually begins for me on April 1st.  I’m not good in March, it holds too much blah blah for me.  Too much what if and too much sorrow for me to welcome Spring on its actual arrival date.  So on April 1st I hoped somethin would bring some welcome relief from this very hard winter.

Through dinner with friends, good news from friends and even better weather than expected my hope was fulfilling itself nicely.   The emergence of my garden always fulfills my hope for welcome relief.  There is always that one day that the sun and my energy converge and begin the process of cleaning out the back garden, hanging the rug over the railing and giving it a good beating, uncovering the tiny little poke-throughs that just can’t help coming up before the hard frost fear is over.

This weekend brought me sunshine and wind to blow the leaves all the way to the edge of the enchanted forest.  It brought rug beating with no choking or sneezing thanks again to the wind. It brought out mineral oil for the wood furniture and cushions, if only temporarily.

It brought the first pansies to the garden centers and dirt under my fingernails.  It brought the end of the indoor farmers market and the anticipation of the outdoor market with its strawberries and asparagus and peas.

So while hope is not a strategy, on this weekend, it was a call to move, walk, beat, scrub, to welcome Spring and continue to hope for more.

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Time Passages

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“I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.” Michelle Zink

Except for today, of course.  I know you think this is going to be my annual “I want my hour back” rant but not so much this year.  I have to say there were a few very profound happenings this week that seemed to wake (yeah I know) my ass up.

First and foremost my dear friend Paul sent a wonderful email (after attending a school presentation by his daughter Greta) entitled The Secret of Time:

Today the 4th grade classes at Race Brook School presented their research and enactments of famous people in history.  Our Greta was Betsy Ross, and aside from the great job she did on her research and memorizing her speech, she personified the most famous flag maker from Philadelphia perfectly.  She even answered questions about Betsy in first person, and was very proud by how impressed everyone was with the flag that she had sewn on her very own “real” sewing machine that she got for Christmas.

 Greta As Bestsy Ross

Most of all she tested Dad’s ability to keep smiling and not succumb to the urge to burst into tears.  There’s a very fine line between being happy to be alive, and becoming overwhelmed by the realization of riches that have been bestowed upon us, and just how precious each day is.

Now the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.  James Taylor

Somehow Paul always has something happening with his family in March.  It’s a time I walk softly and carefully and sensitively lest I fall on my knees from missing my Father.  He’s gone nine years already. Already? See what I mean about the passage of time.  Anyway, each March my friend Paul elaborates on something that he is doing to cement his legacy to his family.  More so, I see him creating “father’s daughters” and I couldn’t be happier.  For them and for him.  It gives me strength to watch a Father bring everlasting memories to the children in his life.  I remain in awe of him.  And I appreciate his sharing me right through the end of March.

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To add to the family theme I was honored to attend my dear friend Cookie’s grandchild’s baby shower.  Baby Cook.  So, of course, I did what I do in all matters Cookie, I hid behind the camera for fear of becoming a whimpering nut to capture the day and regret that he was not a physical part of it.  It was beautiful, she is beautiful, they will carry on the family name in some way (the baby’s sex is a surprise!) with notions of Cookie in the back of their minds.  This is the most validating indication of the passage of time, it’s natural and beautiful and fulfilling for legacies both past and present.

Later Muriel and I actually howled telling stories of when they were all kids and how her Father’s memory lives on and on and on.  Ironically it was a story of a family tree.  Truth, my friends, remains stranger (and a helluva lot funnier) than fiction.

So this morning I awoke missing an hour.  I walked the girls, made my coffee and treated myself kindly.  I didn’t piss and moan once about losing my hour.  Nicely my sister (who has lived with the rant far longer than anyone) brought me a wonderful gift of lox for my Sunday bagel and it was a delicious treat.  I’ll never get this particular hour back, but I must say after this very long, very cold, very snowy winter I am thrilled to be writing this with sun still shining and Spring on the way.

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No, I won’t get this hour back but I will get an hour back.  What a gift to look forward to:

Time does not pass, it continues”   Marty Rubin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snow

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The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches….E.E. Cummings

How soon we forget. It’s winter.  I have heard more bitching and moaning about the snow this week than I have in quite some time.  Mostly from people snug in their homes with laptops and fireplaces and fresh brewed coffee and their kids.    From retirees that can’t stand another minute…what is so urgent that the snow is cramping your style?  Just curious.  And from my mother who refuses to even look out the window at it all the while watching the 24/7 coverage of it on the news and grabbing her rosary for anyone stuck or stranded or who’s house lost power. God love her if she lets her guard down for just one minute the world would….who knows.

It’s true, snow doesn’t give a soft white damn but have we really lost track of the soft white part?  You know the beauty, the fury, the magnificence of all that snow?  Have we lost track of the nostalgia?  There was NO SUCH THING as pre-announcement school closing when I was a kid (God how I hate typing that).  My dentist and I had this discussion on Thursday, when he confirmed my tooth was indeed fine, that we waited with anticipation for the siren to go off at 6:30am when school was closed.  As I may have written before, pandemonium in feety pajamas broke loose in my house.

My father couldn’t stay home because he had that kind of boss but he knew how to drive in snow and taught us how to drive in snow.  His big problem became all the people out and about getting in his way.  Same problem the plow drivers have when someone is valiantly trying to make it to work in the office.  The office, not the hospital right, the office.  We never had the luxury of having him home on a snow day but now fathers are bundling up the kids and going out to play.  That is an awesome part of snow.

I’m blessed to have my Stowe Lane family coming to my rescue.  Best sight ever was Muriel showing up for “payment” after cleaning off the 12” of snow from my car we got in the first round.  I didn’t even know they were out there and I certainly had no intention of going out until the “email” came.  One bottle of wine, two cans of Coke, a quart of sauce and half a loaf of bread (ready for the oven) later my debt was paid.  Love those two.

Don’t think I’m not guilty of becoming that person.  You know the one.  We get the “email” from our property manager pronouncing us all get out and clean off our cars as soon as possible so the snow removal people can clean up the parking lot.  She gave the usual dos and don’ts but the gist was getting your ass out there ASAP.  We’re a pretty good group, all of us bursting out the door like something out of Dr. Seuss with our brooms and brushes and shovels and scrapers.  Dressed in our layers and big boots and funny hats and mittens.  We’re quite the sight on Stowe Lane.  So we’re all done and moved over to the already clear spots from the morning and we wait and we wait and we wait and now people are starting to come back home.  The next email goes something like; yesterday we got 18” of snow, then rain, then more snow.  Ok, we’re listening.  And the guys are concentrating on the streets.

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No they’re not.  The guys haven’t been seen since early in the morning.  The guys are still at the beginning of the complex because they didn’t believe the weather forecast and are trying to use their existing equipment and manpower to clean up the after effects of a blizzard. Really?  They shovel a shovel-width path all around the complex completely ignoring the handicapped spots (not that anyone living on the second floor is really handicapped but I digress) then they bring one snow blower, one. OK, don’t give me that line about how over worked they are and their concentration on the streets when you should be asking where the rest of their equipment and manpower was.  Yes I did send her pictures; yes I did mention that at least some of my maintenance money should go to the residents who were cleaning out the handicapped spots.  And YES the bobcats and plowman and backhoes did show up 15 minutes later.  Oh my God I have become that person…

Meanwhile by Saturday my sister was calling it “day three of the hostage crisis”.  Granted she might have done something to her back (not shoveling as she has an angel of an upstairs neighbor for that) but she was also enjoying a good book, getting back to cooking albeit Sandra Lee style as she calls it, and the very genuine phone calls from work wanting to know how she’s doing.

While I was cleaning up and digging around my car on “email” day I had an interesting conversation with GI Joe (he’s a former marine with a story). By interesting I mean more than the usual pleasantries, I try to duck him since I found out he went to Brockport with my ex brother in law.  While he’s moaning about the snow I remind him that Rochester might have been a little worse than this and he’s a former Marine made of tougher stock than most.  It dawns on him I might have something and switches to telling me about the steak he barbecued last night.  Seemed a bit serendipitous as his wife is usually very meek, let’s say. I smelled that steak cooking when I took the girls out.  It was a pleasant surprise in the middle of winter and it smelled damn good and I told him so.  I asked if he and his wife enjoyed their dinner….well um she is taking care of her sister who broke her wrist….I know like I know this was his version of pandemonium in feety pajamas.

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For me, being socked in on Stowe Lane is priceless, I work, I read, I cook, I enjoy the beauty out in the enchanted forest and my neighbors and going to bed early and a good bottle of wine and the quiet of the neighborhood when I poke my head out before anyone else.  I love what my camera sees and I love having the uninterrupted time for just a bit of nostalgia.  Still I too am longing for spring:

“The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.” ~ E.E. Cummings

Can’t wait to bitch about that when it gets here in thirty one days.

Spring is a time of new beginnings. Honey Michelson

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Spring brings more light, a warmer sun, and the promise of a garden to come. I can just about make out the tips of the hosta, the poke of the sweet woodruff and the tulips (all two of them that are left) are leafed out but no bud yet.

Spring begins with the vernal equinox.  Equinox from the Latin “equal night”.  The days and the nights are just about equal everywhere.  The tilt of the earth is zero.  This got me thinking…

I’ve had an interesting week full of juxtaposition, equal day and night.  Equal easy and difficult.  Equal good and not so much.  I found myself saying I know like I know for the day, easy, and good circumstances.  No surprise there. But then I found myself saying I don’t know what I don’t know for the night, difficult, and not so much situations.

It’s not always like this, equal.  Sometimes, no mostly, it’s all good (I’m always reminded of Toots whenever I say those words) a lot like summer.   Rarely is it all difficult, a lot like winter.   I’m talking more about the I know like I know stuff being the cornerstone of my being.  I take what I know for sure and cement it to my life.

But this week, this week has been different.  I’m opening myself up to I don’t know what I don’t know in response to my otherwise smart ass usual snap judgments.  To the most helpful phone conversation with himself, to the 3:45am break-in at my neighbors, to the pop in behind the scenes Facebook conversation with my dear friend in Amsterdam all these have left me saying, I don’t know what I don’t know.  There are ways of being and personal issues looming in everyone’s life, everyone has a story.  But I’m no longer satisfied to assume I know the story.  There seems to be so much more.

So, Spring has started a time of new beginnings for me, where the admission of not knowing will lead to further exploration, understanding and empathy.  Combine that with the acknowledgment that the unknown isn’t as daunting as I once thought and I know like I know that more light, warmer sun and the promise of growth might happen to me too.