There comes a time in January when I start thinking about spring. It's the month when I take out the plant and seed catalogues and click on favorite gardening websites. This year I have a whole new space to plant -- to the east of the farmhouse, where trees once shaded a large patch of land, but the trees have been taken down by Ed and the soil is ready for spring planting. Looking at my records from past years, I see that I always put in my first plant orders now, in January. Nevertheless, this year, my head isn't there yet. I'm stuck in winter thoughts.
I try to give myself a little push. For example, this week I started purchasing tulips for the kitchen table. My grocery store sells inexpensive bunches of tulips year round, but I scoff at the idea of putting out a vase of these guys say in November. In my mind, tulips are harbingers of spring and I allow myself the pleasure of looking at them once the countdown to spring begins. So let's think about the coming of spring! Here you go: pink tulips for breakfast!
It doesn't fully work. One foot solidly stuck in winter. I'll give myself another nudge next week. We'll see how that goes.
(It doesn't help that once again we are in a spell of low lying clouds. Spring thoughts do not respond well to a dense cloud cover.)
And I have this further insight about my days right now: I'm too well-read.
When the kids were coming to the farmhouse, in the time I was tending to them (on average five hours each day), I never once looked at my online reading material. I read stuff in the early morning and then again in the evening. In between -- I'd at most check headlines to make sure the planet was still spinning in the way that it's supposed to. Sometimes not even that. My mind was clear of worldly thoughts.
But now -- well, I subscribe to three paid publications and each one sends me fascinating emails all day long with links to their most interesting stories. A lot of it is news analysis: I know every detail about the insurrection in D.C., plus what every smart person has to say about it and what us average folk think about it and, too, I know what other news sources abroad and here, all over the political spectrum are saying about it, because my three publications delve into all that as well. Similarly, I have a huge knowledge base about COVID -- its origins, progression, treatment, future prognosis, current implications. And the vaccines: how they came to be, who is getting them, who is rebelling against them and for what reason. And that's not all. As I am rifling through these online pages, I come across other stories that catch my eye. For instance, did you know that "the polar vortex is splitting in two, which may lead to weeks of wild winter weather?" (WashPo, Jan.5). Or, why would I not click on this link: "New Pandemic-Related Emojis For the Next Keyboard Update?" (New Yorker, today. Actually, they're pretty funny! Go look at them here!)
So my five hours with the kids has shifted to one hour of better cleaning and bookkeeping and four hours of online reading.
This has to stop. Beginning tomorrow, I'm coming back to the days of childcare model: I will read what I can read before breakfast and return to it in the evening, in between cooking dinner, and writing an Ocean post, and eating popcorn over a movie with Ed (last night's Peanut Butter Falcon was fiercely entertaining!). A little tight, but I did it before and I can do it again! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to read a piece I came across about why resolutions are doomed to fail...)
Later:
In the afternoon, Snowdrop calls. What are you doing?
I'm baking a rhubarb cake. (In looking through our frozen fruits and veggies, I came across a large bag of rhubarb. That's right! I'd forgotten I chopped boatloads of stalks back in the summer. It struck me that I could do more than just cook up a dinner for the young family once a week. I could bake a cake! They are once again stuck in their house, with too few hours of childcare and too much work on their plates.) What are you doing?
I'm walking a cat on a leash.
They have three cats. Could it be that one of them is now a victim of an eager girl's play story?
Gaga, it's just pretend.
I hear meowing.
It's got batteries!
I return to my cake.
Food delivery!
Such good kids...
Evening. Ed dozes on the couch. We didn't ski today, but we took a brisk walk -- enough to knock him out now. I finish up cooking our portion of the same supper the young family eats.
A new week starts tomorrow. Think it'll be a good one? Sure. Keep the hope!
