Posted tagged ‘Bulb’

“The Earth Laughs in Flowers.”

March 19, 2012

It is just after 11, and the temperature is already 64°. Gracie is in the yard, and I’ve been outside standing on the deck taking in the morning and watching her enjoy the sun. She has a grassy spot where she lies asleep on her side spread out to the warmth. Fern is lying in the sun from the front door. I can almost hear Curly singing Oh What a Beautiful Morning.

My yard is filled with flowers from the bulbs I planted last fall. Usually the spawns of Satan dig them up but not last year. Every morning I can’t help but stand a while just to look at them. I long for color after the bareness of winter so the bright yellows and deep purples draw me to the garden. Even the white crocus are filled with a richness of color. Some flowers have yet to bloom, and I wait patiently wondering what other surprises the garden will give.

When I was a little kid, spring meant putting away the heavy coat, the mittens, the hat and the boots. I don’t think I ever noticed flowers growing. I noticed the mud and I heard the birds every morning on my way to school. Spring also meant taking my bike out of the cellar and finally getting to ride it again. Spring meant staying outside longer on a school day afternoon. The streetlights came on later and later.

I always felt a sense of freedom in the spring. Gone was the bulkiness of winter. The radiators stopped their hissing. The windows were free of frost and were opened for the first time in months. The house was filled with the sweet smell of the spring air. We went back to roaming on a Saturday.

Back then I loved summer, but I think spring was my favorite season. I know for certain it is now. Officially, spring is two days away, but today is a spring day.

“It happen’d one Day about Noon going towards my Boat, I was exceedingly surpriz’d with the Print of a Man’s naked Foot on the Shore.”

February 2, 2012

If the groundhog lived in these parts, he wouldn’t have seen his shadow today. He’d have seen a sky filled with light gray clouds which cast no shadow.

From my window, it looks cold out, but it is 43°. I figure this sense of feeling cold has to do with the missing sun. When it shines, I have an illusion of warmth.

In my garden, the shoots of the dafs are above the ground. I can even see some buds. Yesterday the local paper had a picture of croci (crocuses if you don’t like the Latin ending) which have bloomed along 6A. These poor spring bulbs have been duped by the warmth of the winter. Every other year I am thrilled to see their shoots popping above the ground as I know spring is near, but not this year. It is February which can be snowy and really cold.

I feel like a hermit. Lately I haven’t been out much. If I didn’t have the dog to talk to, I might just lose my power of speech, but Gracie is just a listener. She cocks her head to acknowledge the conversation but that’s all she offers. I figure it isn’t just me though. We all seem to hibernate in winter. The weather doesn’t invite us out to take a casual ride. I do go out to do errands but I go reluctantly as I hate to leave the warm house and my cozy clothes. Tomorrow is that errand day out of necessity: I’m out of cat food. Gracie and I will go to the dump first then do some grocery shopping. I don’t have anyone to talk to at those either. The dump is always freezing this time of year as the wind whips across the frozen tundra so I quickly go from bin to bin. At the grocery store, the only person I talk to is the deli man when I order.

I do see my friends every Sunday, and we play games and have dinner. Once every couple of weeks we go to trivia on Thursday so I get to practice my communication skills. Sometimes, though, I feel a bit like Robinson Crusoe before he found Friday.

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us”

April 30, 2011

We have clouds again, and it’s chillier than it has been, but today is perfectly still, not a branch is moving. The day will feel warmer. In the front garden, tulips have bloomed and more of them have budded but are still shut so tightly I can’t tell what colors they are. I thought the squirrels, those spawns of Satan, had eaten all the bulbs just after they were planted as I remember the holes in the garden where I suspected the tulip bulbs had been planted. I was happily surprised to see how many have survived. My lawn is high, time for mowing high.

I still have an iron. It was a house warming gift 34 years ago when I bought my house, and I actually used it. I’d wait until I had several blouses needing ironing then I’d set up the board in here and watch TV as I ironed. I used a spray bottle on the pesky wrinkles and spray starch on the linens. I have no idea the last time I used it, but its time is coming. For my August trip, I bought some new clothes which need touching up so I’m going to haul the board out of the cellar and fire up that iron. In Ghana, I didn’t do my laundry-I paid for it to be done. It was hand washed in a bucket then ironed. The iron was black metal, tall and had a v shape. Under its cover, the inside was empty so it could be  filled with charcoal to produce the heat. I figured it was probably just like the ones pioneers used on all those petticoats. The charcoal iron worked as perfectly as my electric one did. It just took longer to get hot. I never wore anything wrinkled, even with hand wringing and a bucket.

I haven’t thought about that iron in years. I find it especially amazing when one memory leads to uncovering another long hidden in the nooks and crannies of what I call my memory drawers.


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