Memoirous

Drifting down, cottonwood fuzz Gathering into snowbanks of fluff Whirled into the corner of the garage Entangled with leaf debris, the stray stone Wooly mounds turn summer into winter.   Drifting down on the back deck, bubbles Reflecting the sun, casting prisms My grandson stands in the midst Fluff, drift, colored bubbles, baubles Gifts from the sky, impossible to hold.

Weather service have yet to determine if the severe storm May 15/16 was a weak tornado—I can only say that when I woke up Friday a.m. the damage was considerable. That being said: I slept through it. The Tiny House held. Thursday had been a beautiful albeit HOT day. I’d run and biked and made food on my day off, which also included a playdate with both grandkids. That night I folded up lawn chairs and covered my fledgling tomato plants because I’d had a couple alerts that a strong storm was going to come through. In bed I checked radar and it said about midnight. I was way too tired and closed down for the night, thinking if I heard it I’d get up and check the garden. I did hear it! My phone went off with a National Weather Alert—but I was too out of it to put 2 and 2 together. I told myself to ignore it, the garden would be fine, there was nothing I could do about it, etc. Not once imagining I could be killed. The next morning I went out to inspect the garden and everything was ...

Those stray white petals carpeting my floor   Sounds very pretty But they are tracked inside Stuck to the bottom of my shoes And glue themselves to the tile So that my Dust Duster finds it impossible To suck them up and I have to Bend over and scrape with my nail The flimsy, papery petals, now discolored, And roll them up like a booger and Throw them away, this little bit of spring Which I waited and waited for and longed— Now a curse beneath my feet Those stray white petals carpeting the floor

There was a day last week that when I came home from work and ate my supper, I didn’t feel like turning up the heat only to turn it down in an hour before bed—so I changed clothes and immediately climbed the ladder to my loft bed. You see, the higher I go, the warmer it gets under the eaves of the roof line. I was warm and cozy up there reading or playing with my device.   This morning—after a garden workout the day before—I lazed about listening to the tap tap tap of rain drumming the roof as I lay abed. The room grew from darkness to dim. And, I knew I didn’t have to get up any time too soon, as my original plan had been to continue working in the raised beds I’d built the day before. No chance of that with the forecast. There are noise machines that offer just what I was experiencing: relaxing rain, the occasional bird twitter, non-confrontational thunder, a low settling rumble as if clearing its throat, shaking out wrinkles in the meteorological universe. I could lay th...

After a serious storm, the next day, the streets were carpeted with red buds, little pomegranate-looking seeds. It reminded me of a ladies necklace, of spilled coral beads, washed out over the roadway. On the back deck on the lounger left out, there was what looked like bird puke. At least that’s what flashed across my inert brain, then, I thought, no, it’s come off the trees. —Seeds are produced inside bean-like pods and can remain on the tree into winter.   Once you've seen a redbud tree flowering in early spring, you will not forget it. Redbuds cover their branches AND parts of their trunk with tiny pinkish-purple flowers. Redbud flowers emerge as early as February or March—sometimes beating daffodils. A member of the plant family Fabaceae, AKA the “Pea” or “Legume” family, the lavender pink pea-shaped flowers are what Redbuds are best known for. Flowering in the spring before the foliage emerges, barren branches explode with colorful blooms.— The strong winds raked thro...

April, new month, new vision I hate what’s happening in this country. It all seems so hopeless and my tiny efforts, futile. I see in my FB feed calls for protest, days of rage, memes. All that too seems remote, virtual, digital—whereas, I’m looking for something more analog: Present. What does it take to build a peace garden? I’d like one of those St. Francis statues of a bird resting on his stone finger. I want a whirly-gig that shatters the sun and sends fragments of facets splayed across the lawn. I want a place of solace. Let’s build it together.

We have moved into select deck sitting. On the days when the sun is out we are able to sit within the enclave of the back patio in chairs facing the sun and in the square of sunlight hitting the decks. It’s a miracle. This past Sunday we slowly unpeeled layers of outer clothing. We set up the bistro table to hold mugs of hot tea while lounging. The little picnic table came out so the children could sit with a snack. The baby climbs up and down the stairs over and over, as if at Planet Fitness. We discuss the garden, house projects, new sand for the sand box. A Rubbermaid of sand toys is unearthed from the shed. We know it won’t last—this feeling of hope. We’ll eventually go back to cool and rainy. But, after that it will return. Come and go. For now deck sitting is keeping us going, that square patch of sunlight is lengthening, and we can at least pretend.

Sunday, once again, I joined the group Adventure-ish for a morning hike. This week the word was WET. (Last week it was ICY.) Soon it became apparent that we would be walking beside the trail more than on it. At certain points we had to traverse new spring streams. This was accomplished by walking further up/down to cross, jumping and getting a soaker, or, and this was my idea, throwing a bunch of sticks and twigs in order to cross relatively dry. At first it was a pain. We weren’t getting anywhere fast, which felt like a big change-up. I approach the hike like exercise, something to get done. Walking in cadence and letting my mind wander. Sunday’s hike was more about logistics, hopping on and over logs and figuring out how to not fall into water. But soon, the problem solving became motivational, exhilarating; I loved being about to figure things out and outfox the stream. There was at first complaining, moaning and groaning, then laughter. It reminded me that as humans we get stuc...

 Mating Dance A few days ago while shivering as I was running from my house to my daughter’s, across the deck, I caught out of the corner of my eye, movement in the backyard. A bit of color. There was a furious flapping of wings, a joining and sunder, reminding me of Renaissance dance. Courtship. It was two robins. While on the fence, an onlooker to the sexual tension, sat a cardinal. We both were voyeurs to this springtime revelry.

Early March, unbelievable. We were sitting outside after a run in shorts enjoying the weather before I quickly changed to ride my bike to work. I didn’t need a coat, but took one just in case after work I’d need one. Thus, I forgot to take my safety vest. I left for work at 11 a.m. wearing a flannel over my work t-shirt and also wearing sunglasses. It truly felt like spring. No overpants. No boots. Is this even right? I wondered. Never fear—today when I woke up it felt heavy inside my Tiny House. Especially dark outside the windows. I opened my French doors just as the first drops were beginning to fall from the sky. At the same moment my daughter and grandson were watching from their sliding glass door. An audience for a cacophonic symphony.           The back and forth rhythm of spring.  

I’ve learned a new word: vernal ponds. Here in Michigan in the spring I ride my bike past snow-laden fields that slowly give themselves over to marshes. In the woods the trees are submerged into run-off pools. From Wikipedia: Vernal pools, also called vernal ponds or ephemeral pools, are seasonal pools of water that provide habitat for distinctive plants and animals. They are considered to be a distinctive type of wetland usually devoid of fish, and thus allow the safe development of natal amphibian and insect species unable to withstand competition or predation by fish. Certain tropical fish lineages (such as killifishes) have however adapted to this habitat specifically. This description almost makes them sound magical—ephemeral, but they are temporary and are slowly, even now, fading. Everyday there is more field than pond. And, on the really nice days I can hear the boisterous bull frogs, the chirpy peepers, and all the other members of the vernal pond orchestra camouflaged in the ...

I just read a great piece by the wonderful Annie Lamott in the Washington Post about aging and acceptance. About resting in the idea that most things will work themselves out, I’m hoping that spring will make up its mind. Okay, maybe the problem is winter, not spring’s fault. The neck-snapping whiplash of the seasons is killing me. Yesterday me and my son-in-law were sitting out on the deck with hot tea, the baby snoozing in a stroller while Jack combed the backyard for “worms”; we were basking in sunshine and warmth (while still wearing knit hats and hoodies). Nevertheless, it felt great. I cast a glance at the snow shovel and thought, I’m gonna have to put that away. Right now, this morning, ten hours later, it is snowing an inch an hour. Big fluffy flakes coming down. I’m thinking of Lamott’s piece and wishing I were retired, a famous writer, not having to ride my bike into work in 30 minutes. What’s up with this weather? Finally, thinking, There’s nothing I can do about this...

I took the long way home after work and rode through the park, over the long plank bridge that spans the marsh, and through the neighborhood bordering our own. At every corner was a lush landscape, some new tree in leaf and some new scent I detected. The change is sudden and every bit welcomed. It feels a long time coming. In April we had a week where we were teased and then returned to droopy, cold, rainy mornings followed by the same in the afternoon. On my days off it was worse—with wind. I haven’t been able to plan a long bike ride because of the weather and the need to get things done when there is a bit of sunshine. Now that we are beginning to dry out and the sun is out—I’m amazed still at how many times I change clothes. In the morning it is cold enough to turn on the heat. I roll out of bed and don a heavy corduroy shirt and wrap up in a blanket to drink my tea. I’ll then change and go for a run. Whereupon, getting back, I’ll change again for work. After work, I’ll walk ...

  That Pink Tree   I can sit on my porch with a tea Lawn chair and feet up on a step Resting after work or just after waking up Birds in treetops, the lonely train whistle Settling sounds, the world dressing, undressing My focus on that pink tree in regalia Such sweet times

Blossoms Falling like Snow It’s been raining And before that snow Some days both But today there is a carpet Of petals, covering the deck White dots, scattered Floating down from the sky I stand beneath the shower Catching on my tongue The taste of spring

Ufff! I should have taken some ibuprofen before bed. I woke up achy. I’ve been spending evenings after work tilling the patch at the side of my Tiny House in preparation for a garden. 1) I’m not sure about how much space I’ll need, 2) I’m not sure when the big trees leaf out if there will be too much shade, 3) I don’t know anything. I do know that when I turned up the dirt there were lots of long, pink, healthy worms. A good sign. I’ve probably spent $100 dollars getting the ground ready. I bought seeds, soil, and some gardening tools. Some of these expenditures are one-offs. Now that I own them, but the soil and seeds are money in the ground. Luckily, some of the seeds have already sprouted indoors under lamps. The idea of gardening is not new to me. I’ve always wanted to have one—but in Chicago it simply didn’t make sense. Food was plentiful. (Though I would have loved a tomato that tasted like a tomato). Then in Oregon my roommate Jon tore up some thorny huckleberry bushes and...

 On Thursdays we open and close early—thus, I get home around 5:15 pm. These spring days there is still a lot of daylight; the sun doesn’t set until; about 8:20 pm. So after dinner I hopped on my bike and went out for a ride. At the moment everything is green and flowering. White and pink blossoms carpet the pathway. I feel like it has taken awhile—and still, there is a see-sawing of temperatures and seasons within a day/week. Whenever I point this out, folks reply, Michigan! And throw up their hands. On my 2-hour ride I saw a pair of swans on a wetland pond and a family of deer grazing right off the path in the woods. I’m not out in the countryside by any means; I’m right off residential areas where nature has been allowed to co-exist. This time of year I also catch a glimpse of turtles sunning themselves on logs and croakers and peepers and blarers (frogs/toads) at the various vernal ponds and wetlands setting up a racket. It is soul-soothing to get out and ride after dinner—I’ll...

I wrote last week about being teased— overnight snowfall crisp mornings with a whiff of freshness, green melt throughout the day late-afternoon, a slant of light brilliant, encompassing, soul strengthening I pull a lawn chair out of the shed sitting in warm sunlight raises all kinds of wellness levels good vibes and hope, there is a God in the least, at last change is coming

As I’ve previously written: Spring is in the air here in Okemos, Michigan home of the . . . . Not sure. There are a lot of woods, leaves on the ground, deer wandering around, squirrels of various coats and colors, and birds. Lots of singing. All this is somewhat new to me as someone who has been in doors working much of their adult life. I now wake up to the above. So . . . Spring is in the air. There are so many fluctuations now between day and night. At night temps can get down to the teens and during the day soar to the high 50s. Even this can change on a dime and there be snow cover in the morning and melt by early afternoon. The Norwegians have a saying: there’s not bad weather, but bad clothes. I will leave for work with layers and lobster gloves and for the ride home need sunglasses and go bare-handed. I pack an extra bag for the clothes abandoned for the ride home. With the time change, I also leave work in daylight. No need for blinkies and headlights—though I still ...

With the advent of  Dayights Saving Time—which I am totally in favor of, NOT the things that happens in the fall that throw us into the depths of premature afternoon darkness—there has been an attitude adjustment. Call it a sign of hope. I felt it yesterday when I was out walking at 3 pm and the sun was blazing down and the other walkers all had coffee and smiles on their faces too. Yes, it was cold and there was snow on the ground and several inches more in the shadows, but there was a fresh step in their walk. All of us felt it. Spring was coming. A certain slant of light. There's a certain Slant of light, (320) BY EMILY DICKINSON There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons – Yes, Emily, you saw it too! The way the light and shadows mix and send us forth, to smell the awakened ground, the wind in the trees, the birds suddenly more active. They chatter in the treetops. None may teach it – Any – 'Tis the seal Despair – An imperial affliction Se...