Friday has a different “feel” to it, in months like February, when the school year is in full swing. It does not have the same affect in the summer months. By the time the wild honeysuckle vines are clambering up the woodland trees, I often have lost all track of what day it is. . .but oh, in February, Friday means something. If I stay at the rabbitpatch on the weekend, I do not cook supper and I abandon chores too. . .at least on Friday night.
Today was warm and a slight breeze blew, tenderly. I feel much younger, than I really am, on such days. I have no idea why, but I always do. Sometimes, there is just no “rhyme or reason” for things. The spirea continues to proceed with great haste . It blooms now – because it can, in this “mock spring”, by a little shed, near the edge of the woods. I painted the shed a watery shade of blue, years ago. The shed has never been used much, but the original owner, wrote his name and the year in the cement floor. . .and so I kept the shed, for no other reason. Years later I planted the spirea. There is a grave there of a dog -a collie who was beloved and was a companion to the original family, according to Miss Sylvia, who is now, also passed. The spirea almost shades his resting place now.
On Saturday morning, I woke to the sound of a light rain. If the sun shines and the warm temperatures remain, I suppose that peach tree will bloom, shortly. I did not spring from bed, as only a week day warrants that. I lingered instead, in the good fortune of a soft blanket and a loyal dog sleeping by my feet. The rain fell gently, without a hint of malice. How wonderful to wake without a sense of rush and obligation, I thought.
I eventually had coffee and read a beautiful article on forgiveness, which I took to heart. There were things to do but all were some of my favorites. We gather tomorrow, for Mamas’ birthday celebration and so I had some cooking to do. I also had some housekeeping to do. I believe in equal pay for women and fair treatment, but I would be a poor representative of the current movement, for I am so content cooking and cleaning. I wish I had time to bake on a Tuesday as I used to. I have a domestic old fashioned heart and tending to babies may always be the most satisfying work I have ever done. Above all else, on this earth . . .I love “hearth and home.”
I also plan to practice my calligraphy today. I suppose, this is becoming a lost art and not nearly as useful as it was years ago, but I like it and practicing is as peaceful a project as I know of. I will also study edible flowers. I have used violets and pansies for years on cakes and in salads, but there is a much broader spectrum of choices. . .besides I always devote myself to studying flowers in February-and neither calligraphy nor gardening should yield anything, but plenty of inspiration.
Last weekend, as I have written, was very busy. Jenny was hurrying to get the little girls dressed and I looked at Will and winked, for I knew full well, that Jenny could not be bothered to think about supper. I think about supper the night before, but Jenny is likely to make a decision just an hour before the meal. I knew there were a lot of us and we would all certainly be hungry, by supper, for we always are – so I mustered the courage to ask. Just as I expected, Jenny replied sharply that she couldn’t think about that at the moment. Will and I grinned . Then Will and Jenny mentioned my lack of planning for anything -except meals. I defended myself by saying I do plan. Will laughed aloud as he is always chiding me about my lack of financial planning. He said “What do you plan?” and I answered “gardens”. Will said good naturedly “well, there’s that”. ( I also plan for Christmas and to prove it, my “Christmas closet” is not empty at this moment . . .but I did not mention that.)
Since, I would be busy in the kitchen, I had the notion to clean out the refrigerator. I keep the refrigerator very tidy, for every Thursday, I go through the contents, but how every tray and shelf in the thing, needs to be washed, is beyond my wildest imagination. Next, I inspected the kitchen cabinets and to my dismay, they also needed attention. All the while, the rain fell and the stove top was full of simmering pots. . .and I was “happy as a lark”.
It was well past seven and the world was pitch dark when I finished in the kitchen. I do not know when it got dark, nor when it got cold.
I slept soundly, which is a benefit of work-and then it was morning. Today was Mamas’ birthday party. I knew of several households that, like me, had things to do. I had finished the most of my cooking yesterday, but you can not make cornbread ahead of time -and so there was that to do. I had done laundry yesterday, but had piled everything on the kitchen table, so there was that to do as well. Still, I had ample time to collect my thoughts in the chilly morning moments. A few of the winter birds sang just as light came to the day. The countryside was still and silent, other than that. There is never much traffic and country dogs do not bark like the ones in town do. Well, if a country dog barks, you best go see why. . .at least that is the case here.
There is something about morning that is holy to me. Once, chores are started or a television is turned on or a phone rings . . .well, such things seem to break the spell. Each day and night can hold sacred times, but for me it is the morning, most of all. It is for this reason, that I rise so early, especially on the days I work. I first take in to account my dreams, which mostly come in flashes. I pray next and I like to write in the morning, for that is when all sorts of thoughts seem to ascend upon me. By now, I am drinking coffee. There is such a purity present in the first hours -and truths seem more evident, upon my waking. Even the sorrows of yesterday “get put in their place” in the morning. The night , seemingly, having stolen, at least, some of their fierce thunder.
The birthday dinner was at one o’clock. I went early to fry the cornbread there. It was a smaller gathering than usual, as several family members were out of town. We were not short on food though. Mama ought to not to have to cook for two days, as we left her well stocked.
She is hoping Daddy will take her out to eat anyway . . .and I bet he will.
Happy Birthday Mama!