I Need Spring

I’m waiting for Spring. To dust my bedroom, to get my dahlias out of the cellar and pot them, to take a walk every day outside without needing a hat and scarf and  and a mask across my face so the wind won’t bite me. I’m tired of waiting for Spring. I thought it was here Sunday.

Nope. The sun was shining but the cold Northwest wind was cutting. Yesterday I went out. I’d come to the conclusion that anything above -8 was a treat. Nope. 50 degrees isn’t 79 degrees if there’s a wind. I want to just go and walk and ignore the temperature reading on my Weather Station, but it’s like the elephant in the room: impossible to ignore.

I was getting ready to put the kitty litter away that I use for our icy steps, but luckily I didn’t. It snowed Saturday night and I needed it Sunday morning.  I’m sure most of you are looking at your blooming daffodils and on my garden there was still snow yesterday.

It can only improve. Right? The sun is shining and so far it is 34 degrees. Surely itll be 70 this afternoon.

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I Don’t Know Why…

I’m so entranced with my pot of tea first thing every morning.I enjoy looking at my lovely new bright blue teapot on the counter or resting on a rack in the sink, upside down. Today I made my tea. The pot was on the counter, all warm with hot tea. After four minutes for it to steep (I used to think it was seep), I pour a cup, add some milk and drink.

Then I go to the desk in my bedroom and write in my journal, formerly known as a diary. I write two or three pages. Two seems right.

Then when the tea is over, three cups in my belly, I close the sliding door to the living room and do my meditation on the couch, facing East. Always East. My sleep doctor said so. I need early morning light to set my wake/sleep cycle properly.

But I get up at six. I guess I don’t need it any more. But I’ve come to look forward to the sun breaking through the trees to shine in my windows.

When it rises earlier, I’ll sit on the couch and write my journal and sip my tea.

Lovely.

Money…or maybe Frank Sinatra

I keep buying things. In Florida in January, I bought clothes and a few gifts for people. Since i came back, I’ve bought DVD’s from The Great Courses, CD’s and Charlie Chan movies. Just this morning, I order two books and another Sinatra CD of songs I didn’t yet have.

I want the old favorites; I mean what they call The Great Amarican Song Book. Composers like Gershwin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and others like them.

Why have I come to be a fan of Sinatra so late in life? When he was the swooning singer of the bobby-soxers in the 40’s, it was my sister, six years older than me, who liked him. I think. I know I never identified myself with those silly girls.

Vic Damone was my favorite. Even Sinatra said that Damone had the “best pipes” of all of them. I guess that includes Tony Bennett, Dick Haynes, Tony Martin and Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis’ partner.

But Vic Damone couldn’t do what Sinatra did: be creative with each song he sang. The older Sinatra got, the better he sang. He told someone that before he recorded any song, he wrote the lyrics out and studied them until he understood exactly how he was going to sing them.

I’ve also bought Vic Damone CD’s and they disappoint. That beautiful voice–dull.

So I’ll never mind spending money on music. And while I’m ordering CD’s, I might as well buy “Command: Sticky Nails”! You can stick your pictures to the wall. Later the sticky stuff pulls right. Now that’s a sound investment.