April, with the Showers

April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land...” -T.S. Eliot

“Only to smash them flat with hail...”-S.A. Sume, not at all bitter. Probably.

April is the month of renewal—Easter, rebirth, tender green grass, brightly colored eggs, fuzzy baby chicks—you know the drill. If you’ve spent more than two Aprils in the Pacific North We(s)t, you know that any spring celebration is bound to get rained on. And it just wouldn’t be Easter without the egg hunt being interrupted by a sudden squall of what one of my twins once referred to as “snow Skittles.”

Sun, rain, hail, repeat-- April is a wee bit volatile. March has the reputation for multiple personalities-- lion vs. lamb--but April can hold her own when it comes to spontaneous mood swings. As a child, I remember many an Easter afternoon, my sister and I, trying to time our egg hunting forays in between cloudbursts. More than once my poor mother gave up on Mother Nature’s cruel vagaries and allowed us to hide our REAL EGG Easter eggs in the house---something I do not recommend. Hiding 12 eggs while only finding 11 happened more than once at our house. It’s never good to find that pesky 12^th egg DAYS after the fact...

Last fall I planted a lovely combo of purple crocus, double-ruffled salmon and cream-colored daffodil, and perfect aubergine tulips. This spring I find myself rushing out between showers to gently shake the rain from the heavy-headed daffodils and try to stand them upright amongst the better-postured tulips. So far, my efforts have been successful, but I know it’s only a matter of time until one of my heavy-headed beauties succumbs, surrendering to the pulse of rain and landing face down in the mud.

When that happens, I will sigh, and trudge out to rescue her and her broken stem. I’ll bring her in, shower her quickly in the flow of the kitchen sink faucet, and place her in a single vase—beautiful, perhaps a bitty gritty, but undaunted.

No matter what your April weather brings, may you remain undaunted as well. Happy Easter!

Me, Easter 1964

Rain on Repeat

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: “Rain, rain, go away—.” Oh, so you know it? You remember rain? That stuff that falls from the sky that we got too little of in March—MARCH! You might have noticed that we’ve achieved rain. Yay.

Well, Yay-ish.

We needed rain. I’m thankful we got it. Now, based on previous experience, I can’t help but wonder when –and IF—it will stop.

Yes, I know, I’m hard to please. Too hot, too dry, too little rain, too much rain, White Christmas but not in my driveway, yada-yada-yada.

Perhaps it would help if I reminded you that I made a list of all the positive things about rain? Would it help to read that list again? 

Top Ten Things about Rain:
1) An effective dust/fire suppression system.
2) It’s refreshing.
3) Rain is Nature’s watering system.
4) Mud puddles meet yellow rubber boots.
5) Rainbows.
6) Help, I’m running out of positive thoughts.
7) Strong umbrella sales.
8) Did I already say Rainbows?
9) Valid reason to stay indoors a read a good book. Or even a mediocre book. Or Facebook. Whatever, I’m not going out in that.
10) Rainbows.

I’m confident that is the definitive list of positive things about rain, all ten of them—well, ten-ish. This is turning out to be one of the shorter things I’ve written and I blame it all on rain. It’s hardly my fault I can’t think of more nice things to say about precipitation. If there were more nice things to say about rain, trust me, I’d say them.

A friend suggested to me that I might like rain more if I thought that elk hated it, and I’ll admit the thought of elk being all glum and depressed because they were getting damp does appeal to me. I’m very vindictive like that. Still, I find it difficult to get behind that notion for two reasons: A) someone is bound to suggest a similar corollary to snow and I’m not falling for that nonsense and B) elk have often used rain as cover to defeat my scarecrow sprinklers. After all, what’s one more blast of cold water when you’re already soaked?

But, in the meantime, I DID think of One More Good Thing About Rain: 11) the sound of rain on a tin roof.

And there you have it: Rain, the Definitive List of Positive Attributes.

You’re welcome.

A Dog Ate My Homework

This is the dog that ate my homework. 

This is Millie. Millie is my grandpuppy. Millie is the same age as my grandson—eight months old for those of you who aren’t doing the math.  Millie is staying with me whilst her parents are on a trip to Italy. 

Millie retrieves things. So far Millie has retrieved one shoe from each pair of shoes in the house, untold number of socks and a very slimy ball that she helpfully drops in my lap so I can throw it—perhaps with disgust, but Millie isn’t picky. 

Millie likes to exercise—she loves romps in the woods and making new friends and can’t understand why I won’t let her hang out with the neighbor’s chickens. 

Millie would like to be friends with my cats, but the cats have taken up residence under my bed and are plotting all the ways that I will pay for foisting this indignity upon them. 

Millie is sighing. She misses her parents and she wishes I would cut out the screen time and snuggle more. Perhaps it would help me write faster if she set on my lap with me? Just a little?