Spring - and Hope - are on the way



A "spring shelf" in my living room, with chicks, bunnies, lambs, and oddments.  It lifts my spirits.

Out back, I have yellow winter eranthis blooming, and my snowdrops are trembling on the edge of bursting forth. Wednesday, it is supposed to be 52 degrees.  Perhaps Spring will come.  Hope, and with it a diffident confidence, is already growing, day by day, inside me.  Hope that things are getting better, that life is getting better, that inside the winter of my soul is making way for spring and renewal.

A spring nesting bird under a glass cloche I made in a workshop last year, with a cheapo flower garland twined around it, and glass eggs on either side.



Twenty posts . . . and counting

Wow, twenty posts so far (and this makes twenty-one . . . ). 

Last year, in the entire year, there were only forty-two!  In less than two months, I'm halfway there.

Of course, my posting attitudes have changed. Sometimes I post twice a day (like today).  I don't really care about having something worthwhile to say; I am more interested in an at least partial record of what is going on in my life.

At left, a deep, deep pink hyacinth photographed in the mudroom.  I love the rough look of the peeling wood.  The hyacinth are a color I don't think I've seen before in the supermarket (nursery catalogs have everything) and I just couldn't resist them.  I also have a blue about to pop and my old white hyacinth, now resting until next year.  The fragrance is so intense it fills the kitchen, where I usually keep them.

Andrew Weil recommends having fresh flowers in the house for mental health.  I can understand why.

One last jubilant comment - finally, one of my amaryllis is reblooming!  Huzzah and three cheers!!  Hope springs eternal. 

Through a Window, Darkly

Just realized I have an oil pastel/collage of a woman looking out a window, and a photo of my reflection in a window (will post later, when I find it), and a photo of my mudroom right now, stripped down to the studs, showing part of a window.  Theme time!

This is a combination of collage and oil pastel.  I made it in an altered book class, in what started out as a completely pedestrian board book.  I had no theme when I began, but every spread ended up having wings. There is something about windows and partially open doors and gates that strikes me as particularly evocative.  What lies beyond? And wings inevitably inspire thoughts of upward aspirations, especially if you don't think about Daedelus and Icarus and their unfortunate little escapade.  Dream big, but know your limits, I guess.

And here is my mudroom, stripped of its moldering (and molding) sheetrock, redolent of possibility, or as much possiblity as a barely 9' by 5' room which as to accomodate a washer dryer can have.  It is fascinating to realize it was once a lean-to, crudely stuck on to the back of my house.  And I can see some the original colors of the house: a subdued (some might say "sick") green, a dark brown.  Neither exactly my cup of tea.  Which is probably obvious, given that I had my house painted pale pink last year.  This is a photo of a window of opportunity, quite literally.  Of course, the contractor has disappeared for the last three days, but are we worried or disheartened?  Well, a little.  But I know he'll show up again, so I'm not desperate.  Just lightly annoyed, I suppose.  Anyhow, the plan is to raise the ceiling line so it matches the kitchen this room adjoins, to put in energy-efficent windows, maybe four lights or six lights over one, and some simple tongue-and-groove wainscot (it turns out, there was wainscot under the sheet rock).  As for the floor, I love light hard wood, but I think terracotta tile is more practical.  The contractor wants to use his left-over marble tile, but I think it is too formal.  I am thinking of using for the bathrooms instead, when they get their makeover, after the mudroom and then the kitchen.

So I wonder - what does lie beyond the window?  I hope a happier house.

Nature Red in Tooth and Claw - and Thorn! Hiking Adventures



I decided to check out a few brooks today, but got a late start because of an afternoon appointment which was cancelled half an hour before, meaning I had cooled my heels for nothing!  Ah, well.

The second brook I checked out is the brook behind Stonicker Drive? Avenue? Something or other? in Lawrenceville.  The sun was beginning its downward transit as I headed into the brambly mess, but I was nothing daunted.  Wish I had been!  The brambles were particularly vicious and practically impenetrable, but I kept soldiering on to my destination.  Several times I nearly gave up, but idiot that I was, I kept on going.  I even had to ford a small stream, but not before travelling as far up it as practical, hoping to find a significantly narrower part to get across.  Lots of brambles sticks there and back.  Got across the stream, finally, finally reach my destination as dusk falls, bleeding rather lustily from a couple of bramble hits that got me in juicy areas.

But now I have to get back!  No way in hell am I going to get back the way I came in the gathering darkness - it was difficult enough with sunlight!  So I head for the perimeter, hoping to walk along the edge of the forest.  Slog through some marsh, encounter killer brambles, make it to the edge - or nearly the edge.  A border of about ten feet is completely filled with thorny, whip-like branches, and finished off at the far side by a chain link fence, which, even if I could reach it, would be quite unwise to scale.  At this point, I felt like crying, so, figuring no-one was around, I did.  I had to turn around, retrace some of my steps, and keep walking, always deviating to the path of least resistance.  I couldn't get too far away from the lights of Route 1, though, because it had become - surprise - dark.  Really dark.  The lights became an eerie haze when filtered through the skeletal branches of the trees.

Finally I saw an unfenced area, and some park tables, and remembered that a strip of the land was an official park.  I was able to get through and walk behind the Harley Davidson and STP buildings, but was cut off by fencing again when I tried to take a shortcut to Franklin's Corner, so I had to head out to Route 1, which conveniently turned out to have sidewalks!

I reached Franklin's Corner, walked halfway down to the access to a bridge leading across Stonicker Brook to the cul-de-sac where I had parked.  Walking (although at this point, thank God, along a paved pathway) through the forest alone at night truly creeped me out, but I made it to the bridge, climbed over and across, and completed the last block to my car.  I was truly relieved. 

At one point in the woods, I wondered if I would have to stay all night.  The brambles seemed to develop a malevolent intelligence and independent movement, wrapping themselves around me at times so that I couldn't move.  To me they became an almost sentient adversary, one I despised and wished to obliterate with every atom of my being.  I took satisfaction in tearing a particularly nasty whippet of thorns in half after it got me twice in the same tender area of my thumb, causing really messy bleeding.  "Take that!" I hissed irrationally as I broke the branch.


Part of my left leg, showing thorn punctures, partially
healed at this point.  It looked much more dramatic
when fresh!  There are a bunch more on the calf, and
of course, on my right leg, too, and my right hand is a
mess.  I was wearing a sturdy pair of jeans, for all the
good it did me!

I have to say that if I had become really desperate, I suppose I would have doubled back to Toyota, and if they were still open, start yelling for help.  But I can be quite stubborn, and besides, it would have meant admitting to a bunch of people in person that I was an idiot.  I know I was an idiot to stay so long in the woods, and you know I was an idiot, too, but that's different from a bunch of strangers.  Besides, deep down I always feel that if I really have to, I'll be able to manage whatever I really have to.  (That's how I fell backwards down my driveway side outdoor stairs at 1am and landed on a rose bush with a drop leaf desk on top of me.  But that's another story, and I did end up getting that sucker inside.  I'm looking at it now, with no hard feelings.)

So, happy ending, but I'm not hiking there again any time soon.  Or any sooner than next weekend, anyhow, probably.  And I hope next time I remember my pruning shears.  Everytime I walk there, I curse and promise myself I will bring them next time around. Anyhow, looking at my thorn punctures (which are swelling up slightly now; quite intriguing) I have to think of my mother, who used to say, when I was moved to misery by some animal's suffering: "Nature, red in tooth and claw . . .", a reminder not to romanticize nature. Preserve nature, love nature, and drink in all you can of it, but don't trivialize it, and don't underestimate its power to surprise both positively and negatively.

No-kidding-around relationship advice from a Civil War pastor

Photo of a bride taken in France in 1865.

I was looking through my bookcase this morning, hoping to winnow out a few more books to deaccession (I have donated almost 100 boxes of books to the library and the Bryn Mawr booksale, where my name is uttered in hushed tones of reverence, due to the quantity and quality of my offerings).  I came across a tiny volume I mistook at first for an old book I used to carry around with me to read at spare moments which contained wisdom from De La Rochefoucauld (at something like two and a half by three and a half inches, it was a handy little book to tote around).  But this was something different; a book by a minister given by another minister to a couple he married in 1865 - a marriage certificate filled out with their names and the date of their nuptials is pasted in the front of the book.

Much of the advice is refreshingly relevant to the present day, but one phrase appealed to me so much I had to make this entry.  Here it is, cautioning people against expectations of perpetutal happiness and harmony in the matrimonial state:

"Do not entertain expectations of bliss which the circumstances of the world and the imbecility of your nature, will render it impossible to realize."

I wonder what became of John Edgarton and Rosella Whitney, wed on January 10, 1865 in Clinton, NJ by the pastor of their Baptist church, C. M. Bowers.  I hope they were in some measure able to overcome the imbecility of their natures and achieve a modicum of happiness together.

This my fervent prayer:  May be we all be able to transcend, if only intermittently, the imbecility of our natures (and the circumstances of the world) and find a lasting, if modulated, satisfaction in life and love!

The Joys of Square Dancing and Winter-time

I've been interested in trying square dancing for a while, but having been informed that it is not what you would call a "user-friendly" dance, I have been stymied.  Evidently one has to know quite a bit of terminology before one can go to a dance - in a refreshing change of pace, for once beginners are not welcome!

However, a local-ish square dance club recently advertised an open house and a new beginners group, and although I couldn't make the open house for reasons I can recall (even though it was only a week ago!), this week I dragged myself to the dance, breathing as deeply and regularly as I could to mitigate the mounting belated anxiety I felt about walking into a new dance venue alone.  (I say belated because what was I thinking, simply looking forward to going square dancing, without realizing that this is just the kind of social situation that makes even watching Saturday morning children's programming on television preferable!)

The group was quite small - maybe 15 people? - but this made it much easier to deal with.  Everyone seemed friendly and interested, and because the numbers were limited, I got to exchange a few words with just about everyone, so now I feel comfortable about next week.  And beginners were super welcome at this group!

I had a lot of fun - square dancing is totally nifty - and I felt better when I left than when I went in, which was a major surprise, because Wednesday evenings I am completely emotionally exhausted from dealing with a very difficult first grade class at the small private school where I teach art.  Yesterday was a typical Wednesday; my stomach was tied up in a knot, I felt almost rigid with tension, and all I wanted to do was assume a horizontal position and put my brain in sleep mode.  But because I had absolutely determined to go, I went, and as I drove home I suddenly thought:  "Wait a moment!  Where are those muscles constricted by stress?  Why doesn't my stomach feel as though a sailor has been practicing his knots on it?  Why do I suddenly feel as though it might be fun to do something else before going home instead of wanting to collapse?"  The answer is actually more complex than just being buoyed by the fact that instead of succumbing to inertia and precedent, I had done what I had planned, and even had fun.  But that will do for now!

Another pleasant surprise is that this is the third week in a row I have made my art class on Thursdays, which I hadn't been to for almost two years . . .   Oh, oh - two goodish things in a row!  Now I am looking over my shoulder nervously, afraid of the "evil eye" at mentioning too many positive things.

Here is a negative to placate any vengeful gods that might be preparing to zap me, thinking that things are going to well - I am unhappy enough with the changed circumstances at the school where I teach to have finally decided to quit.  Not looking forward to that phone call!

I am going into brook withdrawal, although this past weekend I managed a quickie trip to Heathcote Brook, which at that point was about fifty percent frozen over.  I was able to find a section of the brook with a swirling, gently gurgling current, and the sound was an instant sedative.  All's well with the world when I can look into the ripples of a brook and hear the the rush of the water over sand and stone, streaming on and on.  When spring comes, I am looking forward to doing lots of research for a book I want to write called Miranda's Riparian Rambles - I am writing it for myself, of course, and for the subscribers to my Backyard Critters newsletter - all 10 or so of them! 

(A not-so-brief aside:  I often come across notebooks which are only partially filled, having been begun many years before, and for some reason having been set aside unfinished in favor of some other, more satisfying notebook. These notebooks almost invariably have an entry which says something like: "I discovered this notebook today.  I started it x years ago, and the issues I faced them are still facing me today . . . "  and as I read this passage, with a sinking stomach I realize that those stinking issues are still around!  Not a very encouraging experience, as you can imagine, discovering that according to this old notebook, I have been running as fast as I can for years without getting anywhere, to paraphrase Lewis Carroll.  So when, a day or two ago, I found a notebook of mine from ten years ago, I wasn't surprised when I encountered a passage lamenting the fact that even though nearly ten years had gone by since I first wrote in the notebook - take note, that makes twenty years, total to today - my goals, issues, etc. hadn't changed.  And what was one of these bugaboos?  I was upset that I wasn't spending more time outdoors, walking and enjoying nature.  Yes folks, amazing but true - I have finally made some progress and can cross one item off my dissatisfactions with Miranda list!)

Meanwhile, this is the first year I can remember when I haven't been champing at the bit for winter to end and spring to appear - I am enjoying the fact that for the first time in decades, we have had a real winter:  snow, quite a bit of it, and a coverlet of snow that remained for months!  Almost everyone I meet talks about how it's time winter ended and spring came, and what a terrible winter it has been, and I keep my mouth shut, because people's feelings about this winter are so strong I might get decked if I said - "Actually, I am quite enjoying having a real winter for once."  Discretion is the better part of valor.

100th post