When Jesse prays, there is no wondering where his inspiration comes from. One merely has to squint one little eye open to see his own eyes wandering about, hither and yon -- “We thank thee for our bowls . . . and our couches. We thank thee for our nebulizers . . . and our sinks.”
However, tonight, when his eyes rested on an empty spot in our kitchen wall where a cabinet once sat, and he cheerily prayed, “ . . . and we thank thee that our cabinet fell off the wall,” (breaking nearly every plate we owned as it did so, I might add); Penny --immediately recognizing error in his thankings -- leaned towards him and urgently and loudly began whispering prompts in his ear: “And please help it get fixed! And please help it get fixed!”
I suppose there are worse things than being a bit overly grateful.
And I know I said I would resist talking about the old atmospheric elements until “at least spring” but, when I said it, it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be promising an eternal silence over matters of weather.
Here we are – March upon us – and Spring, apparently, has hit the snooze button.
She is likely dreaming amongst piles of cozy down quilts – blithely unaware that it is time to get to work – melting ice and softening soil; prodding little perennials to be up and about their business; encouraging the dreary, stiff and yellow grass; and turning snowfalls to warm, soft rains.
I’ve said it before: I do love snow. It would be a blood betrayal; daughter of Sharon that I am, to feel otherwise; but there is something about March, after long months of snow and bitter cold, that feels like a little seed that has lain dormant in me is suddenly sprouting and pushing up and out; pounding on the insides of me as it shouts for sunlight and rain and warmth to let it flourish.
Every time I walk out front, I notice the frozen, stiff soil in our flower beds and marvel that I ever dug into it with a simple trowel; fear I shall never again hold back loamy earth with one hand as I place a delicate root-entwined start in with the other.
I suppose one could find a metaphor in all of that; but, I am going to shake myself off, roll up my sleeves, and take a page out of Jesse’s book: embrace whatever there is to be embraced.
Tonight I sent the kids out into the cul-de-sac to ride bikes and scooters. Coats and gloves were a must, and, more than once, a child came in crying due to a drippy nose or snow filled shoe, but before long (dark and cold though it was) neighbor kids joined in, and you might have thought it was a regular summer night of play out there.
And here: pictures from a cozy and snow-filled weekend at the cabin.(There is something about these next two pictures that I love. Something about the light and hair and eyes that seems so clearly “morning” and “just up”. Looking at them, I know exactly how warm it was, how tired I was, how late in the morning it was, and how happy I was watching Penny play Rook on a team with her dad.)
Still, with my embracing, I might add, as Penny did to Jesse’s prayer, a small plea to “help it get fixed”. . . . I would dearly love a little spring time.