Almost April

Through the lilac bloom.

One size does not fit all.

Again and again.

Yesterday Things

I went outside for a spell. The air was almost still. The lilacs almost in bloom. With my back to the sun I stared off into the distance. Birds chirped. A car door slammed shut. The sound of children echoed in the alley.

Later as I sat slurping my tiny cup of coffee I noticed the kitchen growing darker and darker. A gray swath was inching its way over the city. I relished the light and how it brought a stillness and quiet to things.

Some moments later I would find myself sitting face to face with a screen. Inching closer, the sound of the chair with its felted feet made the sound of a dry whistle.

Waiting for the Lilacs to Bloom

I cast on. I unravel.

I repeat.

I cast on. I unravel.

...

I am confident that by Thursday—at the latest—the tight petals will have relaxed. And when I brush past for a pause my eyes will close on command and volumes of spring will push through every pore.

Waiting...

Things Come Easier in the Spring

I remarked that it looked like a jellyfish.

Moments later it looked like an egg-shaped heart.

The yolk was just set. A bit firm, but wobbly in the middle.

The asparagus cooked just right.  It's subjective.

Friday, dinner.

These Simple Things

A dutch oven, white.




A morning routine.




A homemade trivet. Brownies. A fresh towel.




Potatoes fried in salted butter and extra virgin olive oil.

...

We ate roast pork loin with potatoes, salad and baguette. It would have been a feast had there been pasta.

A Month of Sunday

The day. Sunday. A month of. It feels as though.

Soup and scone. Lemon and clementine. Mighty grapefruit.

I prepare and prepare more. But I am never prepared.

We gather and gather more. Obliged. Much obliged.

When light hits I cast a line and reel in the morning.

Catching everthing we'll need with a net.

We scratch the itch and clean the glass.

Smile for two hours straight.

Yet sleep escapes us.

We wait and wait more. Time slips by.

My gut screams. I listen.

Finally. The rain slips through the fog.

A Thought for Monday

Weekend obligations have left me feeling weary and almost grateful for Monday.

Monday. Its dreariness cushioned by a humming refrigerator and lemon water.

The silence of routine can sometimes be the greatest of comforts.

It Feels Like Spring

I cleaned out drawers, organized paper clips by size, put away winter coats. I even scrubbed a basement wall that had one too many scuffs for my liking.


Roberto hosed down the courtyard—washing away the dusty remains of a most abnormal winter.


This tiny episode of pre-spring cleaning leaves me feeling content and re-energized.

Everything was Fork Tender

The color of the cabbage had faded. The potatoes paler, too. Some of the beans had freed themselves from their trappings.

I was awash with a bit of worry from the start. Would the pan be too low for all that I had in store for it? Perhaps.

I worked with my right and shielded with my left. Careful. Thoughtful. Patient.

With only water, extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper I was able to concoct a very simple winter meal—Winter—despite the soaring temperatures outside.

I didn't know it then, but the very next day would have me purchasing just the right size pot for such a winter meal.

I commented...

-- and I need to start taking pictures with my canon again

Yearning...

Forgetting.

Contemplating.

There is a heavy sigh and dirt beneath my nails.

The damp earth cakes onto my fingers as the warm winds of early spring weave between the tangled bones of last years annuals.

Yearning.

Forgetting...

Contemplating.

In 20 minutes time I will have wiped the slate clean.

Yearning.

Forgetting.

Contemplating...

I walked back inside. Sat down. And continued with my work.

On Friday

I was taken with the c0lor. A cool spring green that reminded me of great grandmothers, button-filled tins and butter mint candies.

A perfect contrast to the hushed warm gray tones of a solitary skein of organic 100% cotton.

I gave just as much adoration to cylinders of red candy-striped.

I bought flowers, too. Orange carnations. Irish bells. Lilies.

With one mild-mid-morning I bowed beneath the sun and with a great flourish greeted spring.

Rewarded late afternoon with the treasure that was one very tiny clementine.

Inventory

I decided upon waking that today would be a me day.