It’s a season that does not like to commit.
I woke up to this today:
When I was thirteen and in my last year of school in New York (I moved back to Poland after), our end of school year field trip was to Jones Beach. I wore my new two-piece swimsuit. Hardly risqué: the bottom went up all the way to my navel and the top is something I’m sure today’s kids would wear to school on a warm day.
We sang chuck, chuck, bo buck, banana fanna, fo (etc) and in the hot June air we thought we were the coolest in town.
My daughters took their “end of grade school” field trip in June, too. To Noah’s Ark water park. Wisconsin Dells. They sat huddled in their hoodies and sweat pants, not wanting to get wet in the 50 degree weather.
By midday today all snow had melted and I rolled my eyes in the way one does when one wants to appear in control.
Outside, the crocuses were a little droopy. But at least a handful withstood the tough night.
To spring, then! (And all the surprises that come with it.)
