My Seedlings

I might have mentioned before that I have a grow room in my basement to coax seeds into seedlings for the garden. I planted some early seeds on the second of February, and most of them have shown at least a little growth. I have cardoon (a relative of artichoke, except you eat the leaf stalks), mountain mint, yarrow, hyssop, lovage, lavender, and rosemary in a 72-cell seedling tray.

The lavender and rosemary are going very slowly, but both have at least one seedling up. The cardoon might need to be transplanted sooner rather than later because it’s big. I didn’t think the cardoon would come up so soon because I’ve had such bad luck with it before, but no, it popped up like the alarm clock had just gone off.

Growing seedlings helps me through a cold winter. Whether it’s the thrill of growing green things, the brightness of a room full of fluorescent grow bulbs, or the reminder that Spring will eventually arrive, it’s one of the best things for the winter blahs I’ve done.

One thing that worries me, though, is that I’m not writing. I’m burned out on writing, and have a lot of doubt about how good my writing is. But at least I have a hobby to sustain me.

February’s False Promise

Today feels like Spring. At 9:24 in the morning, the temperature is 53 degrees and I feel like Spring is not far away. But this is a trap, one that February springs on us every year. Sunday’s weather will be a high of 38.

I don’t understand what it is about me that relishes snow and cold until Christmas, then wants it gone from my sight. Frightful weather outside in December is one thing, but in February and March? Go away! I’m dreaming of Spring. I’m dreaming of flowers (but even the lure of seed catalogs yields more broken promises).

It sounds like I’m having a war with Winter here, doesn’t it? Maybe not a war, but at least a tiff. I cross my arms and look down my nose at the lie that is this weather. Then again, I walk to my car in a lighter-weight coat. I see Colden Pond has melted and I dream of crocuses popping up by the Kissing Bridge.

I guess this is just human nature (rather than Mother Nature, who grants us this tantalizing glimpse of Spring). I’ll enjoy the weather.

Writing in the Winter

It’s been cold, windy, and snowy. We haven’t had a winter like this for a while. I’ve felt snowed in lately; I haven’t spent time at Starbucks for two weeks. I blame my difficulty in writing right now on this.

My personal sanctum at home is not available to me either. Ever since I got a new computer, the dock to the dual monitors no longer works. And there’s the fact that my darling Me-Me peed on my old computer in there and I’m afraid of the waterworks once more.

What I’d like is some time at Starbucks. Preferably with my husband, so I can talk things over with him. Someplace with noise, with people. I need noise to write, which is why I’m probably ADHD (I’m serious about this; no one has diagnosed me but I do not sit still well).

I sound cranky. I am cranky. What to do?

Today is a Snow Day!

I’m taking an unexpected day from teaching at the university. Today was supposed to be my first class day of the semester (I teach Tuesday/Thursday and keep office hours on Monday). Instead, I am sitting at home listening to Classical Motivation and typing this in my sweats. I am enjoying a snow day, the dreams of children and teachers of all ages.

It feels strange to hype myself up for teaching only to not teach. I feel disorganized, although I can teach this stuff with my eyes closed. Though it’s nice to have an accidental break. And the snow is pretty.

I sit at my computer and write this blog, feeling ahead of the writing-related things I do. I have written character sketches for my two main characters for Kringle Through the Snow, so I’m closer to writing that book. (Next, break my procrastination. Or take a nap, because this day is a gift.)

Winter and … winter

It doesn’t take the snow here much to disintegrate into oily puddles in the street, and muddy divots in my driveway. Even the snow on the lawns has taken on a grimy tinge where it has not melted completely.

This is not how our snow looks like right now.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

But while the snow falls, while the trees accumulate a blanket on their shoulders, I live in a fairyland. I live in a place where the cardinals silhouette against the snow and Christmas has reappeared, just for a moment. Because the snow will only last for a minute, and then the gritty winter of Northwest Missouri appears again.

I used to live in a place that, when they had snowy winters, the snow would accumulate six inches at a time and consistently fall weekly through the winter. This wouldn’t happen every year, but in the years that it did, I stared at white lawns, wondering how anything could seem that pristine. Back then, I didn’t drive, so I had to walk and take buses through that weather. It was dangerous; I discovered this after a couple of falls and sliding down the hill. I marveled at the snow anyhow.

Right now we’re at the gritty and cold winter in Northwest Missouri. Fallen leaves and brown grasses stick up through the patchy snow, and I miss the comforting snow of the past couple of days. This, too, is winter; I can’t wait for Spring to start.

After a Hiatus

I’ve been fine …

I’ve just been very busy. That’s something built in to the month of April at a university — finishing class instruction, grading end-of-semester assignments, shepherding interns through the search and sign-up processes. And then there are the plants and the gardens. I think I have over-committed, but as always, it’s how I roll.

Feeling the breezes of Spring

This is the first Spring semester I can say has flown by quickly, even though we had inconvenient snowfall through March and even into April. Today the apple blossoms sway outside my office window and my youngest cat, Chloe, stares out.

Chloe turns 1 today, so perhaps she’s celebrating.

I’ll be celebrating soon. By the end of the week, I will be in full summer mode, where I have about 1/4 of the work I normally have, with a largely open schedule for three months. This means time to blog, to organize my thoughts, and to get past thinking about writing into actually writing.

Winter is behind me. Time to enjoy.

A Green Christmas

Christmas rituals

Every year, my husband and I hold our Christmas rituals dear. Decking the living room with lit garlands, decking the porch as well, setting out the creche that I grew up with, playing Christmas songs, editing the next Christmas romance, watching Christmas movies, turning on the Christmas tree.¹

The one ritual we’re missing

It hasn’t snowed appreciably here in northwest Missouri, and this means we haven’t celebrated one of our yearly rituals. For 35 years (give or take a few), I have celebrated the first snow. There has been no snow this year, and no snow in the forseeable forecast.

Whether alone or with friends, I have performed the ritual of First Snow:

Wait till at least one inch of fresh snow has fallen and it’s night out
Gather a bowl full of snow (or, alternatively, sit out in the snow)²
Grab a cup of preferred beverage³
Drink toasts to various things as your imagination grabs you⁴
Pass the cup around (pre-COVID)⁵
Always begin and end with “To the Snow”
When done, dump the last bit of the cup into the snow

First Snow, by its climatological nature, is impromptu. Generally, there’s not more than a few hours of warning. This has meant that anywhere from one (myself) to eight (friends) have met up for it.

But, as far as I know, it’s not happening this year according to the weather forecast. I guess I will have to enjoy my green Christmas

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The Christmas tree hides in the parlor. We literally just turn the lights on in the Christmas season. During the worst of COVID, we turned the lights back on all summer.
When I was younger, I sat out in the snow. Not anymore.
This beverage has ranged from blackberry brandy drunk out of a mug in a city park to hot chocolate with brandy on my balcony to plain hot chocolate in my living room.
The later in the round of toasts it is, the stranger and funnier the toasts grow. Especially if the contents of the cup are high-proof. For examples of toasts, click here.
Under COVID, it’s just me and my husband.

Christmas and the Days After

It’s Christmas day, and I’m sitting in the Great Hall at Starved Rock State Park, in front of the fireplace. My husband just snapped a picture of the fireplace and some Christmas decor for us:

Despite my fretting, it has been a good Christmas. I knew pretty much what I was getting before Christmas, because that’s how Richard and I do our shopping. He managed to surprise me with the chocolate in the stocking (given that I’m eating responsibly again, the chocolate should lasr me a long time.

Once Christmas is over, I’m going to need to strategize. January and February are hard for me, particularly because the weather is so bleak and the celebrations are over. I’m more prone to depression at this time. I will have to find things to celebrate and time to celebrate them until springtime comes with its sun.

But in the meantime, Wingless Dreamer wants a headshot of me so they can publish one of my poems. That’s a positive.

Snow. In October.

Snow. In October.

We had flurries last night here in northwest Missouri, just enough to notice, not enough to coat the ground. I wouldn’t complain about that, but we are getting a freezing rain/snow of up to three inches precipitation tomorrow, just in time for Halloween.

Between the unseasonably warm weather and the snow, we have had about two weeks of autumn. I demand an explanation.

There’s an old adage that cautions against complaining about the weather, but snow. In October. I think this is an extenuating circumstance.

The snow will melt, leaving our lawns drab, sodden leaves and dun grasses. Because this is Missouri, home of the four seasons in one day, we may even see temperatures in the sixties — or, who knows, the seventies — before December. But the damage has been done. November will be a child of winter, not autumn, and we will be tired of snow before the year is out.

Halloween is Thursday, right smack in the middle of the snow. Maybe I should go as a snowman.

Spring in my Heart

Almost March, and the snow still lies in dirtied drifts on the ground, piled person-high at the edges of parking lots. The wind chills are more often than not in the single digits. Usually, by now, the snow pack has gone and the days fool one into thinking Spring has come early. My peas are supposed to be planted on St. Patrick’s Day, and I don’t know if the snow will be gone by then, much less the soil warm enough.

In short, I am sick of winter.

I want something new. Like many Americans, I think I want a new pretty thing. I replaced my iPhone 6 Plus after three or four years with a refurbished iPhone 8 Plus, and I’m already accustomed to its shiny new look. That’s the problem with new things — we step on the hedonic treadmill, buy shiny new things, and feel happy until that happiness, hedonic happiness, quickly fades.

I want a new thing for my soul. I want to plant peas on St. Patrick’s Day and watch them grow. I want to see my books progress toward being printed. I want to find a new challenge that absorbs me.

If I can’t have Spring outside, I would like Spring in my heart.