Yesterday, was a big day!  Yesterday was full of celebrating, food, family and surprises and commotion.  I, who shy away from parties given for me, wouldn’t trade yesterdays’ party,  for “all the kings’ horses”!  

I turned sixty years old, a few weeks ago.  . .and my family wanted a party to mark the occasion.  No matter, my protests, they just would not let the subject rest. Finally, I agreed, being worn down by their pleas.  Today, I am glad of it.

I always enjoy family gatherings, but to be the “center of attention”  has always been overwhelming to me.  When Tres wanted to make his smoked barbecue, and was willing to spend all day, on it . . .well, that made a difference.  Mama and Delores made plans whether they had my approval or not and so, I felt selfish to deny, the love that was behind, all of their desires.  Mama came up with the idea, to surprise Brant and Sydney with gifts for the baby-and that sealed the deal for me. 

Jenny joined forces with Mama and Delores . . .and so, we had the party.

It was almost cold in the early hours, when Tres started smoking the pork. I was not allowed to arrive too early, for Mama and Delores wanted to decorate.  Though, they all insisted, I not bring a thing, I finally convinced them otherwise.  I busied myself with my “light duty” tasks, til just after noon.  Chuck and Melissa, Chris and Ano, Delores and Dana were all there when I arrived.  The men were around the smoker.  Delores was setting up a “corn hole” game and Christian was running extension chords, for his guitar. I floated  around, free to roam between the groups and visit.

Will and the children, and Brant came shortly after, while Jenny and Sydney went to pick up chicken.  Lyla bounded into my arms as if we hadn’t seen each other, the week before.  I took Brynn to “show her off” to everyone, but Brynn, being a shy baby wailed pitifully at the first unfamiliar face. I calmed her, Will calmed her, but she remained on the verge of tears, and cried til Jenny returned.

Christian played his music in the shade of an old tree, with daddy sitting close by. Neighbors came over and we begged everyone to stay and join us.  One neighbor, who adopted the puppy, the boys found months ago, abandoned beside the road, brought the puppy, now known as “Buddy” over.  This thrilled the boys to see the pup happy, cared for and with such a loving owner. 

Delores organized a corn hole tournament of sorts, which she took seriously.  Dana had made Lyla a magic wand from  a stick and ribbons and Lyla was as “happy as a little lark” with that.  Brant, who can not be still, climbed on the roof of the house, and removed branches.  Lyla was very concerned about this and kept her eye on him, the whole time.  Sydney grazed on sweets, as she can not get enough of them these days, though she is as tiny as can be.  Ano and Melissa sat on the porch . . .and Brynn slept.  I sashayed  around, like a “big shot”  surveying her kingdom of loved ones.   This is the way the hours so sweetly  passed.

By mid afternoon, we had the meal.  Brynn had awaken from her nap and was more tolerant of her predicament.  Since the day was fair, folks ate outside and inside.  We always make a big production when the cake is presented, but this time, when we all gathered for the cake, we shocked Brant and Sydney with our gifts for the baby instead!  There were little shoes, sleepers, blankets and matching Christmas pajamas!   I almost cried with sheer delight.  Next I opened my gifts.  Delores and Dana mad me a plaque that says “Welcome to the Rabbit Patch”!  I got flags with rabbits and “Honeybees”  , even cookies with honey bees on them! Some cards had money, there was a bag of fine chocolate- a little book, people had written greetings in -goodness what a storehouse of things!  I have to mention, that Delores gave me a teapot with tea that blossoms!  Edible blossoms unfurl, in to tea!  Now, that is fancy and all of the women were struck by such a novelty while the men sat stone faced and unsure of how to react.  None of them felt that tea made from flowers was appealing.  Of course. I am quite anxious for a tea party with Lyla!

After all of the joyful commotion, Dana and Lyla joined Brant, Christian and I  for a back yard concert.   Dear Diary, I have to say, “that was the icing on my cake”.  

Ano and I cleaned the kitchen while Jenny made plates for Mama and Daddy to have an already prepared Sunday Dinner.  Tres packaged barbecue for folks to carry home.  Kyle and Christian loaded the cars.  Delores was supervising her on going tournament with total dedication, as she was winning!  Lyla was worn out and starting to get cranky.  

When I went out say good bye, Melissa (Chucks’ wife) said “This was good ” and went on to talk about the value of family.  That was the perfect conclusion to the end of a spectacular day. 

 

 

 

 

I came to Elizabeth City on Monday , in fair weather.  Hundreds od blossoms adorned the lawns, the woodlands and even the roadside.  The three rivers were as blue as could be and all of the world seemed to be singing.

Lyla had been at the window, watching for my arrival and she did not miss the moment I drove up.  She always greets me with a long and joyful greeting- It is a treasured moment  and typically, I hear her scurrying and calling out “Honeybee!” I drop all my bags and she is in my arms quickly, for a long embrace, whether it has been a few weeks or a few days, since “we were together”.   Little Brynn smiled at me  and  it seems at long last, that she considers me “familiar” now.

  Each morning begins with feeding a pair of ducks, from the porch.  I so hope they show up one day with ducklings. Will, often has coffee on the porch and Jenny and the children, follow, shortly after.  I am usually up first, and while the coffee brews, I sit on the back deck, to collect my thoughts and watch the birds and squirrels.  I saw the yellow tanager twice, the first day!  She was flying hastily, but the yellow bird did not go unnoticed. There are several pairs of cardinals and there are always robins.  One morning, Lyla and I watched a blue jay, gathering nesting materials.  Lyla was very amused, at his antics. 

On Tuesday, Lyla and I went to the grocery.  We had a long list and so it took a while to gather the items.  Lyla is quite helpful at finding the items and reminding me to “stick to the list”.  When we got back, the day called to us and so we all spent the afternoon in the back yard.  Lyla is learning to swing and she takes it quite seriously. I was reminded of the poem, “The Swing” by Robert Louis Stevenson, and Lyla memorized the first stanza and recited it for her dad, when he came home.  My own children memorized poetry regularly and I remain glad, for a semester of poetry is hardly enough.  I still remember my third grade teacher reading “The Duel” (E. Field) to us-and then “Fog” by Sandburg.  Of course, I prefer the old classic poems that have a rhythm and rhyme.  I am on a mission to revive the lost art of  many things, for my grandchildren, . . which includes meandering,  and pretending knowing the name of birds and flowers . . .and poetry. 

 On Wednesday, Lyla rode her tricycle to the laughing river.  The water was a deep indigo color and along the way were irises and a mock orange – and  a hodgepodge of oxalis, violets , buttercups  and coral bells in the yards.  The breeze blew the spent blossoms of dogwoods in the air and I told Lyla, that it was raining flowers.    

When we got home, Lyla and I began making a banana pudding.  After supper, we carried some to Miss Thelma.  I have been giving Lyla lessons on good manners, which I think is another “lost art”.  The visit with Miss Thelma, gave Lyla the opportunity to practice and she did everything just right.  Good manners mean you are thinking of someone else, pure and simple. 

On Thursday, Lyla and her mom had dental check ups, and errands to run.  I took Brynn out for her first solo stroll.  The day was as glorious as could be .  It was a short walk to the river and Brynn seemed to enjoy the cheerfully laughing water. Brynn is a happy baby and so very beautiful. She has learned to clap her hands and what a precious sight to see her laughing and clapping like a little doll.

After baths, everyone settles in for a quiet evening.  It is always the same.  One night, Lyla gave a violin recital and recited her poetry, for us.  That was a special night.  

One morning, I woke up and “out of the blue” . . it was Friday!  It seemed like as fast a week, as I have ever lived, had passed .  Time is much shorter when it is measured, I think.  (This is why, in the summer, I abandon clocks altogether and the calendar is only useful for bill paying and birthdays.)   The early morning smelled like rain, and the heavy clouds confirmed the chance.  Today was the day to pack . . .for all of us.  Will and Jenny are coming back, for a gathering, on Saturday to celebrate my sixtieth birthday, which was on the 18th.  Tres, Brant and Sydney, my sister, Delores, niece, Dana, and cousins, Chuck and Chris are all coming.  I am not the sort that wants a party for me, but this is almost like a reunion and I am looking forward to it.  

There are a few things in life, that I can not get my fill of-springtime and grandchildren -family meals and Christmas -leisure strolls and the nights when we all sleep under one roof, again.  Dear Diary, The older I get, the less  I know, for sure.  . .but these things are certain.  These things, I hold in my heart . . .and will abide for now and be treasured every year, hereafter.

 

 

It is a beautiful Easter morning at the rabbit patch.  The sun came up brightly and the birds have been singing their hearts out.  Now, there is shade in places, where weeks ago, there was not – and there are more roses than there was. Dogwoods and azaleas are blooming, which is especially fitting for the holiday.   

There is a small turkey in the oven, because after a long spell void of Sunday dinners, we are having one today. Regular readers know, that I am as “happy as any lark”, under such circumstances.  Daddy is “holding his own” in his battle, with that hateful condition, that mimics Parkinsons – and Mama is right beside him.  They are in this together – no doubt about it.

There has been a lot of good news at the rabbit patch, lately.  I do have some one very interested in the house – but that is not all, and pales in comparison, to the best kept secret of all.  At long last, I can tell, the beautiful news . . .Brant and Sydney are expecting a baby in September!!!  We found out yesterday, that it is a boy.  My first grandson-and Brants’ first child.  Only Lyla, was disappointed, as she wanted “a baby sister, cousin”!  Thankfully, the cupcakes were served, shortly after the blue balloons were released, to announce, it was indeed, a boy.  (Lyla had her heart set on a little girl, which she would name “Rosie” . )

The weather was perfect yesterday for the “gender reveal gathering”, hosted by Sydneys’ parents.  What a beautiful area, they live in.  There are rolling hills and lots of trees and farms, though they are on the outskirts of several large cities.  Her parents were friendly and made us feel at home right off.  Sydneys’ brother greeted us and took Kyle and Christian under his wing, immediately.  Everyone I met, was just delightful, cousins, aunts, grandparents . . .all new people to love and to share  in the grand gift of  this little son. 

Sydney was quite sick at first, but since, has been feeling much better.  All of her doctor visits have been full of good tidings.  The baby is healthy and the doctor said “He had a beautiful heart, a few weeks ago -and though I am sure that statement was made from a medical stand point, I took it, as I always do . . .spiritually and my own heart , lept with joy -for God talks in such ways.  I have been praying for the baby to have a beautiful heart, a clear mind and good health.  One can have a brilliant mind, or good looks, and these things are useful tools, but it is the condition of the heart, that matters most, I think, for it does not fade in time, nor lose its’ value.

While the turkey baked, I found lots of things to do. There was a lot more than turkey to cook . . . and  I am leaving for Elizabeth City tomorrow, after all.

I was making the gravy when Christian walked in the door.  He had to work this morning, and so how glad I was to see him, in time for the Sunday Dinner.  The biscuits were a warm golden hue and I pulled them out, just as Mama and Daddy were coming in the kitchen door.  We had  string beans , corn, brunswick stew and creamed turnips and potatoes . . and the grand finale was banana pudding with a meringue, that could be bragged about – if I were that sort.

Daddy was moving slow, but he made it to the table.  We all enjoyed the meal and then Daddy and Christian strolled around the yard, while Mama and I packed food up for them to take  home with them.  

I cleaned the kitchen up and still had plenty of food left, for Kyle and Christian, for two meals.  I am always sure they will starve, when I go away, for a few days.  If I am not with Jenny, I am convinced she isn’t resting enough-Tres could stand a home cooked a meal and I hope he is keeping up with school and work  . . . and so you see,   the habits of motherhood remains  as  constant as the North star.  

 

In the evening, the boxer and I took a stroll around the territory.  A thick blanket of clouds covered the countryside and hushed everything.  There wasn’t a bit of movement and the air was cool.  it would have been a wonderful time to entertain lofty notions or at least gather my thoughts, but the peace of the moment didn’t allow such things.  I was simply there walking in the twilight, with my dog without a thing that would occupy my mind long enough for me to ponder.  I noticed the beauty around me. Some late blooming, wild  daffodils fairly glowed in the  absence of light and there was the mightiness of the old oaks .  . .but nothing would stay put , in my mind, long enough for me to dwell upon.  It was a rare and beautiful time. It felt like a sacred time.

And really, Dear Diary, all of life is rare and beautiful . .  these last few days, especially.   

 

 

Typically the forecast for April, is “rain, likely”  . . hence the saying. “April showers bring May flowers” – Today was no exception.  With that being said, I started a fire in the garden . . .again.  There is but one corner left now, to burn.  I put the house plants out to collect the rain.  Not long afterwards, a gentle rain began falling.

Christian was up early, as usual.  He took a look out and said “It’s a good day for you to write.”  I do not know why, but  I do especially, like to write when it is raining.  Rain hushes a farming community and so the rabbitpatch is quiet and so very conducive to  thinking great thoughts or entertaining notions, when it rains . and  I  do like to get still, more than ever these days. 

I grew up in a world, where you worked steadily and made the most of your time, but rushing was limited to bad weather coming, and clothes were on the line  or there were strawberries that had to be picked for company.  Rushing was not a habit, in those days. Now, we live in a world of convenience .  Folks, mostly buy their berries and very few yards have a clothes line.  Yet, everyone is in a hurry.  Porches are seldom occupied and supper is often from a bag . . and I declare, we have lost, something beautiful. 

Of course, in spring, I am least likely to rush.  I do not want to miss “the time of the singing of  birds” nor the sweetness in the air.  Should I live to see a hundred springs, I will not get my fill .

Since, it was raining, I concentrated on housekeeping.  I made a bold decision.  I packed my winter clothes up – shoes and all.  (This is surely a testament that I believe in Spring . . . and the sale of the house. )  The only thing I have had to unpack, since my huge packing up, in the fall . . was my spring clothes.  I have been quite surprised, at this, for there are at least forty boxes, scattered through out the farmhouse.  They are in every corner, stacked neatly and labeled.  Of course, I have not made a trifle or done any decorating in a long while.  The china cabinet looks dismal, without a thing to brag about.  So do the bookshelves, but all and all, we have still lived comfortably. 

I tackled the linen closet next.  This was an easy task as I had at least cleaned it out.  Packing up the few extra sheets took no time.  In the meantime, a man came to fix the lawn mower.  The repairman was kind and fair, thankfully.   Though it was raining, he mowed a streak or two, to show me his success.  Now, I must wait, for a fair day. No matter, my enthusiasm, . . I will  mow  around the flowers .

Sunday was born like a lullaby, softly sung.  The birds did not even raise a ruckus as the light shyly ascended on the rabbit patch. Not long after, I rose, it started to rain.  I still love rain.  We have had the rainiest year on the local record, but this has not dimmed my love for rain a bit.  Of course, I love sunshine,  and clear bright evenings, but the sound of a gentle rain, has a beauty too.  Many times, I have planted flowers in a spring rain.  It is a an awful mess, but the best insurance of success with the young plants, that I know of.  I do not like to drive in rain, though.  

 What delightful moments, the season affords!  On Monday, the first rose of the season, bloomed at the rabbit patch.  It is a fragrant , yellow rose and  was quite a surprise for me.  Another good thing about Monday, was that at long last, the rabbit patch territory got mowed.  I hummed as I cooked supper, listening to the sound of the mower.  (Kyle did the honors.)    How it lifted my heart to see the rabbit patch being restored to its’ former  glory.  There is still much left to be done, but there is less than there was.

On Tuesday, I heard a whippoorwill sing.  Few things are sweeter in the evening air, than the song of the whippoorwill.  He sings as if all is right in the world .  I remember clearly, listening to the whippoorwill, in the quiet evenings of childhood. In the lazy hours, after supper, we would often sit outside til dark. Mostly, the low hushed voices of the adults made me drowsy.  The later it got, the less anyone said anything.   We would always look for the first star and then the big dipper before we went in.

I doubt any one of us,  would have ever guessed that a half century later,  the simple substance of those evenings, would still be treasured- more so than any  “Kings’ ransom”.   or written about.  After all, no one could have convinced us, then, that “our way”  would be lost, nor that . . . those evenings in spring, would have made all the difference, for me.   Dear Diary,  Bless that whippoorwill,  that made me remember.

 

 

Sunshine has been scarce the last dew days.  Spring is full of flowers – and rain.  Though we did have, a fleeting storm, Monday night, mostly the showers have been light.  Days are born in mist and how lovely the blossoms are in mist, I think.  Suddenly, the  woods are  green!  They are the color of jade now, as the trees are adorned with young leaves,  The dogwood has a few blossoms, too.  . . and now, the birds sing, celebrating the time “when flowers appear on the earth.”  You would think, that all of this splendor, would make for a merry heart, naturally. . . but yesterday, I cried.

Being sentimental, I will cry at the drop of a hat . . .at beauty.  Kind words, make my heart well up as does acts of kindness.  When something good happens to someone, I cry tears of joy, whether I know them, or not. This has always been so . .but this was not the circumstances, yesterday.  Yesterday, I cried because the lawn mower wouldn’t start! 

Kyle was caught completely off guard, by my behavior and stood there looking stunned.  Before, you consider me totally mad or “fragile”, be aware that the territory is about three acres of yard – and I went through this all of last summer.  Had it not been for my neighbor, Susan, I do not know what I would have done.  If the grass gets too high, you will need a tractor, which mows  it like a hay field -and it is very costly.  It is no small thing to be behind in mowing, on the rabbitpatch, and  I am just weary of this predicament.  Still, it was much ado for an untidy yard.  I did apologize to Kyle for my outlandish display, but I am ashamed, that recovery,did not come swiftly.  I counted my blessings – and I have so many.  This is the best remedy I know of, for such occasions.  By the time I went out, to bid the world, good night, I had calmed down from my tantrum, and felt foolish.

The stars were out, after all and the faint smell of clover hung sweetly, in the cool air.  There was a chorus being sung, by tiny little night creatures -and a killdeer pierced the dark, with great excitement.  An evening in Spring, is lovely.

I slept soundly, and convinced myself , that in spite of myself, all was well.  Life is more than one moment, thankfully.

I rose the next morning, to an  “early bird” singing like his life depended on it. It mattered little to him, that it was still pitch dark.   It mattered even less, to him that the grass needed cutting. A new day was just over the horizon and so he sang an especially sweet prelude, because of it. Today, I would not be ill tempered, I promised the Heavens.

A few hours later, I was driving past the quiet pastures and the fields of winter wheat.  The emerald grain, is now knee deep.  Sunlight flooded the fields in long slanted rays and the once, bright corners of the field, are now shaded.

At school, the children are telling of sightings of young bunnies and finding kittens. . . .a sure sign of April. I remember finding kittens as a child.  It was a joyous affair and we would spend a morning trying to catch them, for they were feral as could be.  None of the adults ever shared our enthusiasm for  the discovery of wild kittens, under a barn. I do not know what Grandmama held against cats, but as it turns out, Mama is scared of them!    She is to this day and don’t you know that there is more than one story about that. I did not find  this out, til many years  after childhood.   I knew that when we we would run in the little farmhouse full of excitement,at our  find, the adults shared odd glances, with one another, that became familiar over the years.  No matter what, children can never be convinced that finding a litter of kittens, is not a sheer and divine stroke of good luck.  

Only one kitten was ever tamed.  It was a calico and I thought she was beautiful.  I named her “Frosty”.  She never did allow us to hold her, but she like to be petted.  To this day, I love calico cats. 

The week passed, with every day fairer than the one before it. It is no wonder to me that people fall in love so easily, in months like April, for the earth itself, seems to encourage it, with the lilacs  blooming , butterflies wafting along and all the nest building.  Such things conjure up tender thoughts and soften hearts, in the young.  . .and  in the poets. 

Surely the wild hyacinths, do their part, to lend enchantment to the season. A few are blooming by the garden, as they always do.  They smell every bit as good as their fancy cousins, even if they aren’t as regal.  Beyond the garden . . .the white tufts of clover are abundant.  I love the smell of clover – almost as much as the roses in June.  Some people do not like the hodgepodge look of such a yard.  Many will go to great lengths, to rid their yard of “Aprils’ flowers”,  but it is but a few short weeks of the whole year . . so mine abide.  . .and the bees are happy.  

Somehow, I was able to live up to my conviction, this week and not pitch another single fit.  I do hope this is not a short lived affair – for life itself, is a short lived affair. . . .really a sacred one.  One of the most beautiful and brave things we can do, is to live  authentically,  recognizing  our truth.  . . and some times our truth may not be so charming, and may include things like tantrums. . . but truth is always of great value, for it acts as a compass of sorts, and shows us our short comings, so that with practice, we will get along better as we go. 

Besides, there are too many  loved ones in my world  -and too many hyacinths to waste a moment .  There are the fields and the woodlands . . .and a laughing river.  There are the robins and young rabbits, to consider . . .and there is “April”.  

Dear rabbitpatch Diary, Might I dwell on “whatever is true,whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, and whatever is lovely’  .   . . always.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyla turned four years old  on Thursday.    On Friday,  Tres picked me up after school and we were on the way to Elizabeth City to celebrate.  Brant and Sydney joined us on Saturday.   Lyla had gotten her first bike, from Will and Jenny, and so it rained, as it often does, when children get a bike.  We were set to attend a festival too, which seems to evoke rain, as well.  Not to be outdone, Jenny concocted a last minute plan to go to an indoor facility with all sorts of games and activities  -and so, Lyla soon forgot all about the band and the petting zoo, she was looking forward to.   

Afterwards, we all came back to the house for cake and ice cream amongst Lylas’ beloved decorations.  Lyla is such a domestic soul, after all.  She loves her dolls, cooking and just like her grandmother, Miss Claudia loved to decorate for occasions.  Miss Claudia had a wreath hung for every holiday-including sporting seasons.  Lyla, I expect will follow suit.

The cake was presented with great ceremony, which thrilled Lyla.  Since the rain had let up, Will took Lyla with a doll, in her basket, out to practice riding her bike.  The little boys found a mud hole to play in.  The littlest boy, eventually took most of his soiled clothing off, which really tickled me.  He was but a few months older than Lyla, after all, and childhood affords such liberty.  When the guests left, Tres and i cooked supper .  He did the grilling and I worked in the kitchen, while  Jenny gave the girls a bath, for Lyla had chocolate, from head to toe.   When at long last, the children and the kitchen were clean,  a peace settled in .  Lttle Brynn, has a cold and she went fast to sleep.  I looked in on Sydney and Lyla snuggled in a bed watching old cartoons and the young men were watching a ballgame, quietly, against all odds.  Dear Diary, My heart was so happy.

I can scarce take in that Lyla is four!  I watched her riding her little bicycle and marveled at the slyness of time.   It is startling to consider.  I know first hand, that children grow up in “a flash” , and as it turns out, so do grandchildren.  Oh, I shouldn’t waste a single hour of this beautiful life! 

I got up early on Sunday.  First there was the breakfast and I planned on making a Mexican soup for folks to carry home with them.  Brant and Sydney had to leave early and Tres couldn’t tarry, either.  While the coffee brewed, I went out and was greeted by the tanager.  It was good to see he had stayed.  Oh how I wished to see his mate, but the yellow bird does not venture far from her nest.   

True to their word, all did rise pretty early.  There was a scurry of showers – and suitcases and bags were being brought out.  Car keys were laying in plain sight, and oh, how it all dampened my spirit.  Jenny and I packed a box with cake and soup for Brant and Sydney.  We hugged several times, as if we lived on different continents (which makes me shudder, to think about) and Lyla cried.  By the time, Brant and Sydney had driven a mile, Tres said we would need to leave shortly. 

Tres had a long drive ahead of him.  He works a full time job and goes to school full time.  Tres writes papers, that I  can not made heads nor tails of-He  certainly does not write about such things as  violets and young rabbits. I knew right from the start , that Tres was the intellectual sort, for he “wondered” about everything, from a young age.  Still, he will waltz with Lyla and coo back to little Brynn.   He also loves to cook and travel.  

Lyla and I made a dash to visit with Miss Thelma, before I had to leave.  I had given Lyla a lesson on visiting etiquette.  I prefaced it with “since you are four . . ” and Lyla took it very seriously.  She followed every rule, which took great restraint.  Miss Thelma was pleased to see a well mannered young child -and so was I.  In the “old days”, when I was a child, manners were taught with great diligence.  I can remember my grandmama saying ” Even if you didn’t have good sense, you ought to know how to act.”  Adults would stop in mid conservation, to correct a  careless child, for it was that important.  When we came back home, and Lyla was in “earshot” I told everybody of her success.  Only God knows what will happen next time, but today was a victory! 

 

Tres and were back at the rabbitpatch, by one.  We had listened to a lecture on the way there, but on the way back, we talked.  I listened to my sons’ dreams of living out west for a while, and then California, maybe go back to Europe . . .for he has already done quite a bit of wandering.  My heart lurched at the prospect of all this traveling, but I encouraged him anyway.  My son was speaking his truth and above all, I want my children to live their truth. He softened every new dialogue, with “but I will always come back home,  a lot, Mom.”

 

It was a beautiful day.  Dogwoods dotted the countryside.  Wisteria and jasmine adorned the edges of the woodlands. Great clouds of pollen gusted through the air.  It was spring and the little wildflowers  blooming all along the roadside were proof of of it.  

The rabbitpatch was mighty quiet after all of the commotion of the last few days.  My azaleas and dogwoods were not yet blooming.  The sycamore was covered in new tender green leaves. The spirea had faded a bit. The hydrangeas were starting to leaf out and some of the running periwinkle was blooming.  Birds were singing and chattering.  You would have thought the rabbitpatch community was all in cahoots to cheer me up . . but it didn’t work.

It never fails, after a gathering with my children.  I am downtrodden and melancholy, when we part.  I am not a foolish young mother . . .I am an OLD foolish mother.  Why I have not ‘grown out of this” is beyond me.  I miss them every one thoroughly -and I wish I had made more soup.  I wish I had tucked little love notes in their bags and on and on I go working myself into a sad state.  I didn’t make the pancakes for Lyla and  I left laundry for Jenny and poor little Brynn has a cold!  Oh, if only they all came in for supper every night, I could manage. 

Being an old hand at mourning, after a holiday, I knew the remedy.  I reminded myself how blessed I was to have my children.  They are loving and devoted children to me . . . and very importantly, to one another.  We do not quarrel, but instead lift one another up.  We are as likely to boast on each other, as anything. . . and as Tres says . . .”They all come home . . .and often.

 

 

There are few things as pleasant as waking when you please, to a choir of songbirds.  Add to that, an open window, with a soft breeze blowing, causing the pines to whisper . . .and a faithful dog sleeping by you. 

Duty always calls at the rabbitpatch, and today is no different.  I started several tasks yesterday, that need to be finished, not only the garden fire, but I also started on another deep cleaning in a room. . .I hope to finish today.  There is just something about the liberty of doing things, when you see fit. 

 When “the spirit moved me”, I pulled the bed in the bedroom, that I was cleaning, to the center of the room.  You would have thought, this had never been done before, for it was beyond dusty.  All of this was cleaned before Christmas, when Kyle was on a “leave of absence”!  He came back just a few months ago and couldn’t possibly have accomplished this mess!  I declare, I could have grown potatoes right there in that corner,   the bed stands in!  

Oh how wonderful I felt, when a few hours later, the room fairly sparkled and smelled so clean.  clean cotton and orange may be my favorite housekeeping scent.  I smelled clean, too, for I sloshed a good deal from the bucket, on myself- and I am sure there were cobwebs in my hair.  There are two rooms left, for the next time, “the spirit moves me”.

At noon, I still had some gumption, so  I decided to finally clean up a corner of the rabbitpatch, which I had been dreading for months.  Everything not nailed down through the winter, was in that corner.  The leaves were a foot deep and odd shaped things poked out in places.  Only God knew what lurked in the heap, so I hit the pile, with a broom,  and made some racket.  This alerted the boxer, who came bounding to protect me from . . just some trash and branches.  I admired his gallant effort, anyway.  

I had dumped three wheelbarrows, when the rain came.  Big droplets fell hard and quite suddenly.  There were at least a dozen more loads left, but at least I had started.  

I was cooking a quick lunch, when the rain stopped.  It took some convincing, but I willed myself to  go back out and pick up where I left off.  I was already dirty and so it made sense to work til another shower fell.  I could not burn, but I could haul.  Truthfully, I was never going to be in the mood to do this task.  . .my track record was proof of that.

I do not know how many trips, I made to the garden-more than the dozen, I had guessed.  At one point, I seemed to be in a mechanical trance.  I would dump the load, smell the cherry blossoms and trudge back to the shrinking heap of now, muddy leaves.   Oddly, I do not remember thinking about anything as I worked, except being too cool, from the raindrops and willing myself to go on. I kept waiting for rain, so I could stop without feeling guilty.  It never rained again.  The temperature dropped, the wind picked up, but not a drop fell and so I finished  . . .and I was glad.

 

Now you can believe, that I slept soundly that night.  I knew Monday was coming . . .and that always changes everything.

This Monday, was a work day for teachers.  I usually take those days off, to stroll by the “laughing river” with Lyla or bake cookies.  Sadly, Will lost his grandmother, a few days ago.  The funeral was this weekend in a town southwest of Wilmington-about three hours away. This is Wills’ third significant loss, since Christmas.  “Miss Mildred” was so dear to him.  I admired Will, for all the times he visited her, even at that distance.  Will has lost his mother, grandmother and his oldest friend in  just a few months.  What a series of tragedies, for this young man.  Such seasons are life altering and I intend to comfort Will, as best I can.  I consider Will my fifth son, after all.

When I drove up to the rabbitpatch, after work, I immediately saw that the pile of wood and shingles had been put away.  These things were left over from a previous repair.  They had set there, for months, ruining the look of the place.  I almost cried, I was so happy.  Kyle and Christian, spurred on, by my work yesterday, had moved them to a proper location, in the barn.  Clean up after the winter, on a property this size, is not for the faint of heart.  . . and we are not finished, by any means, but I have hope now- and Dear Diary,  hope is so very golden. 

On the drive home, I had noticed the fields of winter wheat.  This is my favorite crop to watch grow, though when the cotton blossoms, that is lovely too.  Just now the tender wheat is an emerald green.  In the shade, it almost looks blue.  In a few months, the wheat will turn golden .  No matter, the stage of the cycle of wheat, it is bound to make you want to kneel right there. 

 

Daddy has an appointment  today.  The forecast was for  a  cold rain and a lot of wind to follow.  The mountains got snow, and so I thought of my friend “Sweet Anne”. 

Sweet Anne is a hostess to somebody constantly .  She walks everyday at the crack of dawn, and watches her little neighbor, board the bus.  Otherwise, she is visiting waterfalls, dining out or listening to world renown  choirs.  

Now, the cold rain fell as predicted, all morning.  Thankfully,  Daddy got a good report.  It took everything in me, but I went to the grocery, afterwards.  I really tried to think of something I could cook tonight, but we were out of milk, which stopped the biscuits and the pancakes and the creamed potatoes.  I did not have tomato sauce, which meant no spaghetti and besides that, we needed dog food!  No matter what I could concoct for supper, it always came back to that dog food. There was no way out of it, I was going to the grocery. 

I drove back , past the winter wheat field, that I love, to the rabbitpatch where things are blooming and the yard needs mowing -where supper would soon be cooking -and the roof wasn’t leaking . . .where a warm love abides and takes the chill from a cold, April rain.

     

 

 

The rabbitpatch is especially beautiful, when bathed in early morning light.  A new day – another chance – is given, like a gift, wrapped in sunlight and birdsong, at each dawn.  I think, I heard a purple Martin this morning-or else a very skilled mockingbird.  The Martins come to this part of this world in March, with their exotic trills.  Martins hatch their young here, but then leave for South America, which is where they learn their fancy songs.  Daddy loves the purple Martin, and has houses for them.

Already, we are in the twilight of March and true to the old saying. March does seem to be ” leaving like a lamb”.  Fair days are more frequent now and even the wind does not howl as it did, but, instead,  blows in a friendly way.   . .and now the cherry tree at the rabbitpatch is adorned with a few blossoms.  This cherry tree is fruit producing and not the ornamental variety, that I declare, is the “Loveliest of Trees” as does Housman, in his poem.  Still, I have never met a tree, that I didn’t like and the rabbitpatch cherry is no exception to that – and   it is  beautiful too. 

Today is the kind of day to hang linens and sheets on the line.  I have always loved the sight of a line of curtains or sheets, flapping joyfully, in a breeze.   My friend Julie, used to visit frequently, for a few days, and I always made sure that she had line-dried sheets, for she loves them, as I do.  When my hours were different, at school, I would hang my own sheets on the line before work . . .and pray it did not rain, in my absence.  It was always worth the chance.  Besides, the delightful affair of sleeping on sheets dried in sun and country air, the practice is ” green” and sensible.   I am already looking in to some sort of line for a small yard, to use at the next rabbitpatch.   Mama and Grandmama had to hang clothes out, for they neither had a dryer, when I was young.  Hence, clothes were washed on sunny days, year round.  I remember my sister, had to hand clothespins, for she was youngest.  I had to sort through the tangle in the basket, and hand each piece of laundry. Then, the thing seemed like a chore, but now I remember the conversations shared, which did not always include, just the next task details. We talked about God,  what to name the new colt and what we wanted for Christmas .   . .  and later boys.  Every subject came up naturally and changed over the years, just as naturally.      

Not a single March, passes that I do not remember flying kites, made by Daddy.  Daddys’ kites were not beautiful, though one year, we did convince him to use “the Funny Paper” for some flash of color. (Gosh, I have not thought of the “Funny Paper” in a long time!  For younger readers, this was a Sunday paper of comic strips.  It came with the newspaper. )  Daddys’ kites were very impressive as they climbed the sky, without fail.   Sometimes, they became impossible to detect.  I did not realise it then, but what gumption it must have taken to work a long, hard day, come home and fly a kite!

While the sheets danced in the breeze,  I took a moment to visit  with the cherry tree.  Oh the blossoms smelled delightfully sweet and I hoped they would scent the sheets!  The wind blew in the right direction, to do so.  Sometimes in June, when the wild honeysuckle blooms, the sweet scent will cling to the sheets and so will the Mimosa scent, in July. 

The jasmine in the young woods is blooming now.  The bright yellow flowers hang like garlands on the trees, transforming the landscape into a scene of celebration.  I thought of Lyla, for she loves the smell of jasmine.  While the jasmine dangles, like strands of sunshine, the meek violets carpet the rabbitpatch in every nook they can find.  Somehow they deck the footpath,  to the garden, as if it were their intention.  I am always careful not to step on them. 

  

When the sheets were dry and inside the farmhouse, I set the garden on fire.  It was full of branches and leaves, collected all winter.  I only got about half of the plot burned, but it was a start. When the boys were young, burning the garden was a big event.  We all sat outside and took turns tending the fire.  I felt lonely for those times, today.  A fire is best enjoyed in the company of loved ones.  

The boxer loved the fire and  did his part to cheer me.  He raced around the yard like something awful was on his heels.   How glad I was to have this loyal and handsome dog. 

The sun was slipping behind the woods and the embers had lost their glow, when I decided to take a stroll by the field, behind the oldest barn.  The field isn’t yet plowed.   A watery, green ground cover blankets the vast territory.  How do I forget this wonderful spring event, for it happens every year?  The field becomes a sea, each spring for a few short weeks, just as  the jasmine blooms and the cherry blossoms.  Dear Diary, The twilight of March, is a wonderful, wondrous  time.

 

 

 

I came back to the rabbitpatch, on Tuesday evening.  Jenny was at least eating , though lightly. Her house was orderly, groceries were bought, laundry done and her supper was cooked, when I left.   I do  think the chicken soup, helped the process. Still, I wished I could have stayed another day or so.  I am always that mother.

Monday was a beautiful day.  The sun shone faintly, a slight breeze blew and the air was mild.  When Brynn was safely tucked in for an afternoon nap. I insisted Jenny nap too.  Lyla and I were going out.  Lyla said it was a good day to visit the “laughing river” – I agreed whole heartedly.  Being almost four, Lyla wanted to ride her tricycle.  Since there was a sidewalk, I agreed to that too.  I must say she did a good job and so in no time we, were on the banks of the river, where dandelions were blooming.  The water was so calm and reflected the sky like a mirror.  For a while we watched the clouds floating in the water.  Lyla made a few dandelion wishes, and then a friendly robin came to call.  He was not in the least skittish and allowed us to get quite close.  Lyla loves to practice “balancing” on the old railroad ties, that are all aligned to mark parking spaces, though  there is hardly ever a car parked, there.  The little robin hopped along in front of her, glancing back ever so often, full of curiosity.  This went on for at least fifteen minutes.  Lyla and  I were both amused.  Lyla coming to the end of her act, thought we should go to “our rock”. She like I, had missed our strolls and wanted to visit all of our favorite places.  

We sat on the old flat rock, with the water lapping playfully around the edges.  It felt like a “homecoming” with our old friends,  the rock and the “laughing” river.  I do not know how long we sat there, for the rock, in the little nook,  is too enchanting to keep time.  When   a few drops of rain, broke our trance,  we decided to head for home.  We took a different route back and I was so glad, for the camellias were blooming.  There were daffodils too, in most every yard. . .and a jasmine full of buds, clambering up a fence.  I  found an opened bloom and let her smell it.  Jasmine smells purely, like spring  and Lyla loved it.  

I saw the cherry trees were starting to bloom.  It is hard to find a sight more beautiful, than a cherry tree in bloom.  The blossoms are a powdery pink and will make you stop in your tracks, if you should see them.   I don’t think, I could hold a thing against anyone, while looking at a cherry tree, for it is just too lovely.   On the stroll back, I thought as Lyla pedaled away . . .Dear Diary, these are the moments, I live for.

Brynn and Jenny were just waking, when we came in.  Both were in better spirits.  I started supper, while Lyla and I went over our lists of birds and flowers.  She remembered every one of them.

Jenny ate a light supper, but it was altogether more than she had consumed in the last four days.  Just afterwards, a fierce wind blew all at once, and a downpour ensued.  The air got cold quickly and weather alerts popped up.  Thankfully, it passed quickly, but the cold air remained.

On Tuesday, Jenny found “winter clothes” for Lyla and Brynn .  They were in the back of the closet, but kept handy, for such circumstances as a cold March wind.  This was not the day to take a stroll and admire the flowers or sit on a rock .  Lyla and I went to the grocery store and drove by the “laughing” river, on this day.  The water was restless and full of swells.  Wind, water and blooms all  were in action, I thought.  What a busy day in nature!

 We were busy too -After the grocery, Lyla and I stopped by the home of  “the beloved. Aunt J” – short for Julia.  Aunt J is a vibrant and joyful soul, now grieving her sister, our own, Miss Claudia.  Wills’ sister, ” Aunt Bea” was there and had an early birthday present for Lyla.  It was a beautiful doll with a carrying case full of doll clothes.  Lyla was thrilled, as she especially loves dolls.   

 As soon, as we got home, I went to work on laundry, while Lyla dressed her new doll.  I was determined to leave Jenny in better shape, than I found her.  When a supper was done, and laundry finished and the doll had tried on most every piece of her wardrobe, I packed the car, to go home.  I left with high hopes that the cherry trees will  be in full bloom, next time.

 

 

 

Before I knew it, the  work week had passed til now it is Saturday,  It has been a week of chill, light rain and wind.  The winds of March are always noteworthy here.  Sometimes, you  can not even bear to walk outside because of it.  It is not the kind of wind for kites, for the the gusts will nearly sweep you away!  When I went to bed last night, I could here the wind howling like a distant train whistle.  Yet, when the sun rose this morning, the old barn was still standing and somehow the spirea hadn’t lost a single blossom!

We have had a sad event in our small community, this week.  A neighbor and friend passed quietly, night before last.  Miss Susie was a vibrant, youthful lady.  I will not go on about her, because she never liked too much attention.  I will say, that Miss Susie was the one who gave me flowers to plant at the old farmhouse, and I mentioned that from time to time.  She gave me the hard to find “tansy, that smells like honey”  and  the “autumn joy” that is now green with new life.  

The rabbitpatch has had a lot of sorrow and trial this year.  It has been an unusual year in that respect.  Now, there is no comparison, to the tragedies that continue to unfold in this world.   . .and I am well aware that things can always be worse . We all have our burdens as that is part of this life.  I do not know how, any of us can have  the fortitude needed, without a faith. It must be an awful predicament. 

Tomorrow, the family gathers to celebrate Daddys’ and Christians’ birthdays.  For this reason, I have a large pot of chicken already boiling for brunswick stew.  My sister, Delores is bringing barbecue, my cousin Chris, is making ribs, Chuck is bringing chicken and Mama is making a cake. There are also , all sorts of sides, as well, so we are all in the kitchen today. 

Jenny has a “bug” of some sort and Lyla is showing signs of coming down with it, so it is likely, they will not attend.  My sister Connie is on some island in the Caribbean, celebrating her twenty fifth anniversary, so it may not quite be a full house, but it will be close.  

Somehow, the old farmhouse has remained tidy from last weekends’ gallant effort-but I may tackle another room, since the wind is still blowing and it is a cold wind, too. The sky is  a clear, bright blue and reminds me of October. But for the wind, it would be a lovely day to hang sheets on the line. Instead , I decided to wash my spring dresses, which had been packed up.  This is the first time I  have unpacked anything since that fateful day in December, when the sell of the rabbitpatch, fell through.  Not even the Christmas China, was unpacked, this year.  I do not have much choice in this particular matter, as spring days are bound to come at some point. I put them on hangers and hung them wherever I could secure them.  They hung from hooks intended for plants, the awning outside of the sunroom and  even the welcome lantern.  All  were adorned with floral prints fluttering in the wild wind.  While i did not trust mere clothes pins, it seemed wrong not to take advantage of the fierce gale as it swept through the territory.

The stew was done not long after noon.  I cleaned the kitchen and then collected the dresses.  They were all dry and smelled like the rose soap, I had used and fresh air.  I got a small room clean, so that only leaves three more.  I sat down to take a break,  The boxer joined me – and that is the last thing I remember . . .for I fell fast asleep . . .so did the boxer.  

I woke up hungry and totally confused about the time .  The sun was shining, so surely I was late for work.  Had I missed the birthday party?  When I finally got my bearings straight, I made us all a cheeseburger and took the clothes out of the dryer.   I was up til midnight, which is always the case, when I nap. 

The moon rose over the field, and I was in awe, for it was tinged with a slightly greenish light – and it was huge.  There it was shining on everyone with no regards to things like age or status.  Things wild and things tame, we all shared , the glory of the moon, in March.

Somehow, I still got up early on Sunday morning.  The day was as bright as the day before, and the sky was just as blue.  The wind had ceased and birds were singing.  I was chopping cabbage by eight-and had put in the last load of laundry.  Mama loves my slaw, and it does pair well with barbecue.  I always make enough to leave her some for the week.  Other than my chopping cabbage, the house was quiet.  The washing machine hummed softly and the mockingbird sang boldly.  These are some of the things, I love about mornings.

I do not enjoy chopping cabbage.  It makes your hands tired and it takes a good while, to get it fine enough to eat.  I do not like the way  kitchen machines chop it, for the cabbage is often rendered mushy and this does affect the flavor.  If someone walks in the kitchen, while I am chopping, whether they live here or not, I hand them the bowl and invite them to take a turn.  Still, I do think a lot, as I am chopping, as is typical when I have such a task.  I have solved many a problem,  while peeling potatoes or canning tomatoes. . . and dreamed like a “big shot”.

As it turns out,  I am leaving for Elizabeth City, after the birthday party.  Jenny is still sick and Will goes back to work tomorrow.  She did see a doctor this morning, and so got some medicine-though I plan to fix her a pot of chicken soup-which is good for everything. 

Thankfully, I had cooked a lot of pancakes this morning.  Kyle is home again and so he and Christian will have pancakes, besides some party leftovers.  I do not care how old the children get, I cook for them when I can.  Tres and Brant, each  has a pint of stew to carry with them – and Mama and Daddy are cooking their favorite beans, so they will have those, as well.  Whenever, I see my grown sons, I always say “Please come back home, so I can cook for you and wash your clothes.”  My friends cringe, when I tell them, but I mean it with all of my heart.  Of all the things I have accomplished – or ever will, being their mother matters most to me. 

The party was wonderful.  It was so nice outside, that  we were able to gather on the porch and recall our childhood escapades.  How we all lived to grow up, is beyond me, for we were wildlings and quite curious children. We played awful tricks on one another and did all sorts of dangerous things.   

The food was all good and there was plenty to send off, with most everyone.  I was relieved that Kyle and Christian would not starve in my absence.  I made a big plate for Will, as Jenny has not been in the kitchen for days.

I drove to Elizabeth City right afterwards under fair skies.  On the way, I thought of all the good things, the day had brought. I smiled remembering the thoughtfulness that had gone in to today.  I was glad that Daddy had enjoyed himself.  Tres had been able to come home, which is always a special occasion, for me. Brant and Sydney came . . .oh, Dear Diary, This was one beautiful Sunday! 

 

 

 

 

 It is Saturday morning, early enough, that it seems like me and the mockingbird, are the only ones in the world.  The mockingbird sings from the patch of young woods, at the far corner of the territory.  His song echoes with an almost magical lilt and comes through the open window of the old farmhouse.   It is breezy enough, to make the pines whisper and a bit cool for an open window, but I like listening to his morning prelude, so I get a warm blanket and sit quietly, beneath it, in the dark, like an odd, old woman.  I am not sorry one iota, for these moments.  In fact, I feel privileged to know such a time.  

The sun came up with a gentle light.  I saw rain clouds in the near distance.  By this time, a dove cooed softly and the wind had all but stopped.  The sun dimmed and the rain clouds moved on, without much ado.  . . and the pines stood still, without a refrain.

After all of the commotion, of last weekend, I am hoping this one, remains as peaceful as it has started.

Daddy celebrated his eighty-fourth birthday, yesterday.  My sister Connie and her husband Mike – and niece Hayley , took him and Mama out for lunch.  I stopped by after school with his favorite ice creams.  Mama made her trademark, pineapple cake and someone tied a balloon on the mailbox.  We are having a party next weekend to celebrate Christians’ and Daddys’ birthdays. 

I can scarce take it in, that my daddy is eighty four -and that my “baby” can grow a beard in twenty four hours.  It just goes to show , that even though we can measure time precisely, it still slips through our fingers stealthily -and slyly, with the skill of water.

I am at the rabbitpatch again this weekend.  There is a fair share of things to be tended to, besides the usual housekeeping.  The first mild days of the year act like a prod of sorts, on me-to get on with my business.  Right now, my business is getting the rabbitpatch territory cleaned up.  Besides the winter refuge of leaves and more small branches, there is the old refrigerator and a dryer to be removed.  Besides that, there are two pieces of furniture in the house, that are long past their days of glory.  Neither will make the trip to my future cottage. . .whenever that is.  

The floors are in awful mess due to the rain and there is laundry to be put away -and the boxer is getting a bath.  Besides that, tomorrow is Saint Patricks’ Day, when you have even a drop of Irish blood, then it calls for a celebration.  We take our Irish heritage seriously and so we never let the day pass quietly.  Jenny and Will, even got engaged on a Saint Patricks’ Day, years ago in Savannah, by a grove of live oaks.  

This year, we are having a pot of  hearty potato soup thickened with Irish cheese – and reuben sandwiches.  It is a simple fare, compared to most years, but it still counts as a patronage to our ancestors, who had names like  Hiram, Henderson McDuffy and Asabella Leary.  

I started  my housekeeping, cheerfully.  The “spark” does not stay there as long as it used to, I notice.  I wonder how in my late forties, I could clean the whole house, every nook and cranny, all day long.  Certainly, I was tired in the evening, but the house fairly sparkled . . . in those days.  What a difference a decade makes! I value cleanliness, as much now as ever, but I sure do not accomplish now, what I used to, in a day.  It has helped that I have remained steadfast, in my desire to live without any clutter, but it still takes me twice as long as it used to, to scrub the floors  -and I did next to nothing in the yard. 

While I was out, I did note that the peach tree blossoms had been faded by a cold night, a few days ago.

Sunday morning dawned cold.  I did not rise before the sun, this day.  Neither did the birds.  It was a quiet early service for a while.  There was a light frost, which is natural in March.  . . and which is why the peach tree, should have waited to bloom. 

There was just enough chill in the air to warrant my hearty Irish soup.  I still have housekeeping, too.  I worked on and off yesterday til I just gave out.  The farmhouse is so much bigger than it used to be.  For some years, the house was just the right size.  Grandmama was here and three of my sons.  Every bedroom was occupied and the kitchen table was full at supper.   A cake did not last, much more than a day or two, in those days.    The clothes line  was full, if the sun was shining and the broom was always out and handy.  Those were merry days. 

Now, boxes are stacked in corners, awaiting their destiny . . . .as am I.  I remain optimistic, and patient  .  That is why the boxes are unpacked and I have pots waiting to be filled with clumps  of  flowers and sprigs of cuttings, for they are moving too. One day they will bloom on a small yard around a neat cottage.  Grandchildren may have to share a chair at the table and folks will sleep in odd places,  for it will on occasion, be a full house . . . that takes a half day to clean!  And while I am dreaming, I should include roses – a lot of them.

I had the walls washed and the windows cleaned in the little den, before nine.  I started a pot of chicken boiling, for the soup base.  Then I tore the sofa apart –  and moved it and the rest of furniture, making a total disaster, altogether.  The boxer had not planned on this interruption and his face was  filled with shock and disapproval. 

By noon, the room was put back together and smelled like orange and rosemary.  The soup was done and I only awaited a soft blanket to dry.  Of course, there was more to be done . . .but it was only noon.

My bedroom was a piece of cake to clean.  The sunroom was awful.  It is in need of repair, which is disheartening in itself.  I tend to ignore the room as it is a pitiful sight.  I set about that task, which took twice as long as I expected.  No matter how much I cleaned, it was hard to feel but a slight satisfaction, in my effort.  It needs painting and the ceiling needs new paneling.  The floor is two different kinds of vinyl   and so no matter how clean it is, it is nothing short of an eyesore. 

I took a stroll around the territory, as the sun was out and the wild violets are blooming.   How sweetly the shy little violets make me feel.  They are stalwart little things and do not fear the frost.   The grass is greening in patches and some of the lilies are up . . .so are the irises.  The boxer ran, leaping and bounding joyfully.  Boxers, naturally like to  celebrate  and will do so “at the drop of a hat”.  On this day in late winter, there was reason to be glad.  A good deal of work had been accomplished, we had wandered, without hurry and a good supper was waiting.  Dear Diary, There is always something, to be glad about.

It has become a tradition for me to complain about the time change, every year.  Several days have passed and I am just now feeling a bit acclimated to the “changing of the clocks”.  I dislike it as much as ever and find it just as ridiculous.  It does not help one bit, that mornings are pitch dark when I rise.  It could just as well be midnight.  Stars are still shining, over a silent world, for things like mockingbirds, have better sense, than to stir in the pitch dark. 

True, to the forecast, the weather has been mild during the day-and it has not rained for several days.  Oh it is hardest to work inside, when the days are fair.  My thoughts turn to things like the “laughing river” and what a grand day, it is to have a picnic.  I wish I was home, hanging sheets on the line or gathering branches of Pops’ “golden rod” blossoms   . . . or reading something delightful, in the sunshine.  It was the same, when I was young.

I tolerated school fairly well . . until the first, silvery days of spring.  Then I got “homesick”.  I knew Pop was plowing a field and I could almost smell the earth.  In those days, the classroom windows would be open, but there was no chance of smelling apple blossoms, in town.  The air smelled like fuel and pavement, and the cafeteria food being cooked, just never smelled “right” to me.

I had several problems with lunchroom behavior, for while I didn’t want to eat that “canned stuff”,   I was certain the birds  might.  I put the peas  and carrots, in my milk carton and this worked for most of the year, until I dropped the carton, one day and peas rolled right to where the teacher was standing.  This landed me in a tight spot for I was accused of wasting food, which ironically, I was trying not to do – and after that, the teacher had to check my tray every day.  there were many more infractions, for I was likely to eat my dessert first and I refused the vegetable soup altogether.  They served it on Fridays and I was sure they were using “scraps” to make it.

It is no wonder that I wanted to stare out that window, and imagine that beautiful place called home-which “got recorded as day dreaming”.   

The classroom smelled like “math books”, lest I ever forget “modern math”.   The books were brand new and filled with nonsense about how to add simple numbers.  It was the only book, that I was tempted to leave out in the rain, or cut into paper dolls, but I knew better than that, for even a two cent library fine, was shameful, in those days.  None of the adults liked “modern math” either .   It was an awful waste of life, after all.  I announced it to my teacher, who told Grandmama the next Sunday morning, as we attended the same church. 

 I am older now, and realise that I had wonderful teachers, really.  I was just a bit too untamed to appreciate all  of the civilization, that schools forced.  . . and the library did cover a multitude of sins, as far as I was concerned.

 

Besides the fields and quiet pastures, I drive by a vacant lot, on the way to and from work.  It is a short and peaceful commute that allows just the right amount of time to collect my thoughts.  A vacant lot in the country is just a patch of land, usually void of buildings, though sometimes, there is an old barn or shed.  More than likely, there will be a grove of pecan trees, or some old shade trees.  Somebody will keep the lots mowed, but for them to be deemed vacant, means no one is ever seen there.  Such lots are few and far between, in the country.  There is one such lot, though a few miles from the rabbitpatch.  It is covered now in daffodils, as it is every year.  What a sight to come across!  I can not imagine how this happened, but there it is, a field of daffodils.  They are coming up  carelessly,  with no rhyme or reason, to any order.  The buttery petals fill the ordinary lot, transforming it in to something spectacular. In other seasons, one might not give the place, a second glance, but in the spring, this is not so. 

Though the calendar does not proclaim it, it does seem like spring has been declared.  I am not sure what to make of, such an early arrival.   I do not remember a spring so well under way, at this time of year, ever.   I do hope a hateful frost does not come along and spoil everything.  I love every season and most every kind of weather.  In the winter, I love to see a bit of snow, and I will declare it the most beautiful sight of all.  I love the autumn, when the countryside is painted in amber and gold and apricot.  The smell of wood smoke and the skies of October make me fall hopelessly head over heels, with the season.  In early summer, there is the wild honeysuckle and fresh cut grass.  I love the garden and the morning glory climbing up old sheds and fences.  In the summer, when stars number in the millions overhead, I am swept away in the beauty . . .and now with the return of the song birds and the Quiet Garden turning green, and all of those daffodils, then I say spring must be the best of all.  I am surely fickle, but Dear Diary, I love everything wildly and with all of my heart!