Lilies from a friend’s garden, unknown name (the lilies), left in washington (lilies and friend). I miss my friend, and the lilies.
Groundhog Day today. My daughter Meisha came home from school full of anticipation for spring. We’re all full of anticipation for spring. It’s a February thing, which started in January (when it was a January thing). But Meisha’s optimism, because of the groundhog ritual (and despite its outcome), can embrace and then look beyond whatever is left of winter—however long it might linger—because she is that certain of the eventuality of spring. She wanted to celebrate. So we picked up Chinese, watched Groundhog Day, and nibbled on the remnants of my most recent Pear Danish attempt (this time, the pears were swimming in sauce made with lemon, lime, and pineapple juice infused with lavender. Promising).
I have my own spring anticipation rituals. One is chasing sunlight, opening blinds to let it in. Sprawling out on the floor in patches of it. Following it in the car. Which we did this weekend, in a new car (that we rented using perks from Avis; Frank is a frequent customer). Drove all over the place in the sunshine (what luxury! new car, good company, sun). And when we returned it on Monday, we caught a cab to the train station and rode the train almost home, sitting on the sunny side of the train and talking about everything and nothing. Well, that was me. Frank was nice and listened.
Another ritual is garden scheming. I carry plant catalogs with me wherever I go. This week, a Cook’s Garden catalog arrived; I carried it with my other favorites from Heronswood and High Country Gardens. I’ll order seeds and perennials tomorrow. Just seeing the pictures of flowers and vegetables actually increases my endorphins, and then, when I imagine my hands in the dirt, tucking in rootballs of—mmm, oh, rootballs of geum (I’ve never grown geum before), and penstemons, and salvias and stipa tenuissima (I love saying stipa tenuissima; a little Latin chant), and sedum and purple love grass, and scattering poppy seeds, and then smudging in zinnia seeds and poking in nasturtium seeds, and watching basil and tomatos and peppers and that really cool Cinderella pumpkin grow (Rouge Vif D’Etampes; a Cinderella pumpkin Ought To Be French), and smelling currants bloom and then heirloom roses in their glory— Ahhh. Soul sunshine. Makes my heartbeat happy.
