I get edgy at the first sign of spring. It is a tradition for me. I start wondering if winter (or some underground pest) killed my favorite flower. Then as the green tendrils emerge I worry that I may miss the blossoming moments. Spring flora thrives in the cool weather, so a few extra warm sunny days can deteriorate them rapidly. As these thoughts assail me, I begin to stress about life in general. I count the season changes I’ve experienced and ponder how many more I will enjoy. This leads to an obsession and I look for every primrose, crocus, daffodil, tulip, and spring bulb unfolding wherever I walk or drive. As I am restive in my pursuit, I wonder aloud to my husband, “Could I pinpoint the day spring begins in the northern hemisphere and follow it north with the sun. How many miles would I drive before I ran out of daffodils?” He only shakes his head. I begin to marvel about spring and the opposing seasons in the rest of the world. There must be a flower that p
Showing posts from March, 2010
I pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store on a dreary day in mid-January and hopped out of the car with my list in hand. Immediately my eyes were drawn to an oil spill in the parking stall next to my car. There was just enough sunlight escaping through the clouds to extract brilliance from the rain and pollution mix. My camera travels with me for just such occasions. Snap! Every week, Carmi at Written Inc hosts a thematic photo topic and invites one and all to participate. This week he is asking for "colorful" wherever we find it. As soon as I saw his post I knew exactly where my photo was waiting.
I have seen many more strange writings and artwork on cars. Unfortunately, these three are only the ones I actually captured digitally. However, I promise to be more aggressive and resourceful in the future. Although the first two appear to be greetings written with temporary chalk, the last one is permanent auto decoupage; front, back, and sides. ***updated. these three are only the ones captured recently. I didn't mean to disregard the ones I caught last year! As reminded by my daughter.
It’s been more decades than I care to admit, but I can still remember carrying my little metal lunch bucket each day and hoping that mama gave me something besides TUNA in my sandwich. Sadly, there was no cafeteria or hot lunches at my tiny school. The “cloak room” was like a large closet without a door that seemed to draw and store the heat from the clicking radiators in our classroom. Our home-made lunches were also stored there, along with any wet coats, hats, and boots that accompanied us to school. By the time the little hand and the big hand met on the big round clock, the co-mingled smells of lunch box contents and musty mittens overpowered the chalk board dust and assailed our noses. I was always starved by 12 o’clock – a condition that encouraged me to consider a peanut butter and homemade jelly sandwich a gastronomical delight. Sometimes a sliced cheese or bologna sandwich (with too much mayo) was a change of pace. But, in spite of my tummy in growl mode, I didn’t feel
I enjoy driving. I don’t even mind driving alone. 1700 miles in this last little trip. No one could have guessed that the weather would be perfect and I should have retired my snow tires in favor of my radials. The highways were mostly dry and the sky was mostly blue. Other than losing a tire mid trip (and me worrying about the others all the way home), my little car just rolled merrily along. I don’t care, however, for those those wacko drivers. My cruise control is faithfully attended. That is why I know that I’m not the one with the inconsistent gas pedal. Does anyone else ever get exasperated when passing or being passed by the same car for the nth time? Or even worse, getting blocked in by a few cars that have drivers chit-chatting with passengers or someone at the other end of the cell phone. My biggest pet peeve is to be passed by a car, only to have it swerve quickly over in front of me and slow down. I told WR that I wished for magical powers on my way home.
Conversations with grandchildren -- you've got to write it down when words happens or they are lost forever. I just finished bathing the two boys -- 4 1/2 year old Z-bub, and 2 1/2 year-old Dinkum. While I was rinsing the shampoo friom Dinkum's hair I had to be very careful. Grandma: Hold very still Dinkum because this shampoo is not made for children. It would sting your eyes. Z-bub: Yeah Dinkum. Bees made it.