Saturday, February 19, 2011


These are not the first daffodils of spring. I didn't have my camera with me when I spotted the first.

But these are so wonderful, because they are just one cluster from a whole rash of daffodils growing by the side of the road, here in the mountain top neighborhood. And today was full of warm breezes
 and I worked up a sweat hiking the old asphalt road. The warmth and spring and sun made me so happy, there's no other word for it. Happy. A lift from heavy thoughts and prisoned feelings, from the chest-tight worry of the week. Just the plain bread happy Denise Levertov names, just -


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Breathe in. Breathe out.

What is the best thing about February in Mississippi?

Three whole days of a sunshine wash, of the black branches turned hot to the touch in the sun. I don't want it to get cold again, ever. It feels like everything is splitting open warm and sweet again, and I keep wearing turquoise and fuchsia and other color-bright t-shirts and shoes. Today and yesterday, I sat in the sun on a wooden bench and ate my lunch and read Tinkers and then just soaked in blue sky and sun and turned my mind loose.

You know those rubber squeeze toys, that you press all the way in and they slowly expand back out. I feel like I've been compressed and it's hard getting enough air before anxiety closes my throat again. No one ever told me that peace is a discipline.

What other things made me happy today?

My brother wrote me an actual email. Yes, a bona fide long one, and it made me laugh so hard. I mean, really hard. I soaked it up and shook with laughter.

Today is a Sam day. That means I get to play with the sweet kid and have 3 hours not school-haunted.

The spring holds gelato, and train rides, and medieval roads.

There are two chocolate chip cookies in my bag. I got a day's worth of laughter in one morning.

Things aren't easy. But they are good. In the deep kind of way, as a certain boy would say.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Mississippi Ice

It's snowing outside. I mean, it's really snowing. For the second time in a month. I'm a little bit cranky about it, honestly. I want to get through this semester, by golly, and they've already added a make-up day and if it keeps going this way school won't be out til next August and then we'll start all over again.

Am I old? Does not wanting a snow day make me old and boring?

No, I say, no. These are the reasons I don't want a snow day: because I want Michael to make it here safely tomorrow. Because I want to leave for Spain on time in April, and missing school days could interfere. Because even though I love winter, the word and the season, I'm ready for spring this year weeks earlier than usual. I want to paint my toenails turquoise and wear yellow sandals. I want to go stretch out on warm white sand in North Florida. I want to gather a massive bouquet of daffodils and bury my face in the fresh golden smell. I want warm.

General Beauregard Lee, I just hope your little furry tail is right about an early spring. Else we's gonna get a groundhog stew goin.

I never will get over falling snow, though. I stood in front of the window with baby S. in my arms, and we looked out at the fat falling flakes, and even as I sighed at the weather, I reveled in it. At the soft flakes, and the weight of the baby in my arms and his sweet warm baby smell, and all the soft silent white outside and the warmth of the quiet room. He was lovely and sweet and sleepy today, and I think I was more comforted to hold his tiny weight against me than he was to be held. And all was peaceful and he went to sleep while we stood watching the snow come down.

In other news, did you know that Mozilla Firefox has REAL live baby FOX CUBS???? Which you can watch on a live webcam (I actually don't recommend this, the room is mint green and depressing, and you will be tempted to stage a rescue mission as Michael suggested).

Been hankering to watch Bambi lately. When my dad came back from a deer hunt when I was 3, I was terrified that he had shot Bambi. No, it was Bruno, my dad said. And I was like, "Whew! Okay good" and kept watching Land Before Time with a diapered Jim.

Over the Rhine NPR interview. Go listen! Now, slave. (Note: pay extra attention to the photo. I want to play in a field of six foot Queen Anne's lace).

Irish Postcolonial class = marvelous. It also makes me want to stuff myself with oatmeal cookies and speak in a fake Irish brogue all the time. I've managed to resist the latter (most of the time, at least).

Old dirt road
Knee deep snow
Watching the fire 
as we grow old
well I'm sold