Waiting On Spring

Betwixt and between winter and spring, I meet this time of year with apprehension; a sense of wanting to just be done with it all. February 18th marks the anniversary of my father's heart attack and March 26th, his death. Although I live in Southern California, the tale end of winter in 2010 was long and bitter for me. Each passing year gets a little easier; I'm grateful for that. Hard-frost nights still nip at me, but my days are gradually getting warmer. Winter's grip can be strong, but time always is on spring's side. I love that about spring and this year I again welcome her!

Bloom by bloom spring begins. Looking around I see glimpses of it already. I wish we had a more definitive change of seasons here. Of all the seasons, spring can be the most fickle. I love that no matter where you live, we can never predict when it will arrive, but there's no mistaking it when it does. One morning I will awake to find the sunlight has changed. Intense, but kindly, it will saturate my winter-weary heart, seeping through me, washing over my soul and home. The underlying chill will finally be lifted again and I will be warmed by the hope of brighter things to come. Spring is a season of possibility and promise. With the fresh air comes clarity and inspiration for me; an opportunity to figure out where I am meant to be shining.

As I await her, spring cleaning is the perfect opportunity for me to re imagine rooms in my home, to rehang pictures and create new arrangements; change pillow covers with something lighter and more colorful. I nest like the birds this time of year. For me, few activities match the satisfaction of a Saturday spent cleaning floors, washing windows, and banishing dust from neglected nooks and crannies. Soon it will be time to pull back the curtains, push open all of the windows and let sunlight and the fresh breeze sweep into every room. I look out onto my very small patio area ( I really have no yard) and hear the beds and planters calling for my attention. I buy fresh flowers every week now, inviting spring to dine with me at my table. I am looking for activity and distraction during this transitional time of year. I'm uncomfortable with some dates, my journal entries marking suffering and great loss that cause me at times to still wince in memory of...

 I made a beautiful egg topiary just days before my father's heart attack. I was just coming out of a fun girlfriend's weekend and had decorated a beautiful table scape in anticipation of Easter. As I would come home wearily from the hospital each night, it was the first thing I saw as I walked in through my back door. When I packed it up that April I was so angry...so sad. I couldn't bear to bring it out last year. It was still too painful for me. This year I am again looking forward to lilacs, pussy willow branches, lilies, baby chicks, (gentle springtime memories of my childhood and parents) and a renewed perspective on life after winter's long slog. I will breathe in spring and bravely dust off my egg topiary. Simple. Honest. Pure. The humble egg is nature's perfect package and symbol of the arrival of spring and Easter's renewal. I know my topiary will probably at times bring me back to that very difficult seven week period; my first orphaned Easter just days after we buried my father. I am prepared for that. However, this year I will choose to look upon it- rather than look away, as a reminder that In the depths of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible, but very late spring.