Fantasies and fears
buds on lilac, yesterday
This hot weather has revealed a serious gap in my wardrobe. Where did I put all my not-ratty, not-stained, not-holey, not-unflattering t-shirts? I’m good with the jeans (refreshed on my birthday). I’m good with the sandals (footwear should last for years on end). But the t-shirts have up and left town. Actually, no, they’re still hanging around the bottom of my over-stuffed shirt drawer, crumpled and neglected and forlorn.
So here’s a fantasy or two. Or three.
1. Side fantasy to precede other fantasies: An IKEA-like organizer magically appears in my closet into which I can stuff all of my smelly sports-related clothing. Because I have a lot of technical shirts, sweaters, and tanks that are not appropriate for anything but exercise. And the drawer is too full. So I can’t see what’s actually in there. This would save on time and irritation.
2. Sticking with the drawer-clearing theme: Someone goes through my drawer and forces me to give away anything that a) I haven’t worn in a year or b) I shouldn’t be wearing and someone should please inform me. Maybe I’m fantasizing about a What-Not-to-Wear scenario. Without cameras.
3. Now that the drawer has been organized and emptied: Someone, who is my exact size, drops off a bag of cast-off clothes and I dig through and find at least THREE excellent shirts, new to me. (This is how we got all of our clothes as kids — we had lots of older cousins — and it is my preferred shopping method even now.)
Okay, back to reality.
1. I could do this. I’ve been meaning to for months. Why haven’t I?
2. Ditto.
3. The realistic and therefore less fantastic version: a super-fast t-shirt shopping session at a secondhand store. I hate shopping. But this version looks likely to come true, possibly as soon as this evening when I’ll be taking Soccer Girl to goalie training. Apparently the arena is located near a top-notch secondhand store. Girding loins now.
Thus endeth the fantasy portion of this post. Is it just me, or was that pretty lame?
The fears portion shall begin now, but really it’s just one Fear, an underlying anxious hum. This morning, I woke early. The clock said 4:34. The windows were open, and a machine was beeping the back-up beep somewhere down the street. And I couldn’t for the life of me get back to sleep, though there were still forty minutes before the alarm was set to sound. Finally gave up, and got up to scour The Weather Network’s web site for clues — because there is something about this sudden onset of spring/summer that is distinctly unsettling. I want to be glad to see buds and tulips and green grass. Usually it’s downright thrilling. We’ve survived winter! And here is our reward!
But this year, we scarcely had winter. And it feels like the reward is coming far too early and too easily. And whenever things come easily, I get suspicious. This must be a trick. Fool’s gold. Fool’s spring.
dewdrop
AppleApple sat in my office yesterday and with a concerned face told me she had a theory: “You know how some people think the world is going to end in December, 2012? What if it just keeps getting hotter and hotter and hotter until then? And the world ends?”
Sounds like the plot of a movie in which I’d rather we not star.
I reassured her that such a trend was highly improbable. And said that we should enjoy today, because we can’t predict the future. Like a character says in The Juliet Stories: You don’t control the weather. (Of course, there’s so much we don’t control. Not just the weather. What to do but take my own advice, enjoy today, walk barefoot in the new green grass, bend down and see the flower unfurling?)
Another beautiful bizarre mid-March day
tree branch with buds, March 21, 2012
Avoided yesterday’s restlessness and instead started the morning with a trek to the back yard. Camera in hand, of course.
Good heavens, what is happening? Buds on the trees? Red lettuce and chives sprung forth in a raised bed? The wading pool full of water? A smog alert in Toronto this morning?
haze
If it were just one day of unseasonal warmth, the buds wouldn’t think it safe to come out; but it’s been enough consecutive days to heat the second floor of our house to mildly intolerable — we ran fans last night. (And really, the flannel sheets seem ridiculous).
It can’t last; can it? We’ll need those flannel sheets again. The windows won’t stay open. It seems impossible.
fresh salad for supper tonight?
neighbour-watching
Given all this warmth, we’ve discovered a new favourite retreat — the upper level of our porch, which we didn’t get a chance to use last fall when it was first built. Already, AppleApple has tucked away there to read in late-afternoon sunshine. And Kevin and I took tea and snacks and a candle out after dark the other night. It was that warm. Venus and Jupiter shone overhead, and the Big Dipper appeared to be upside-down.
It’s not a quiet retreat, let me add. Our street is much too well-travelled for that. Cars are noisy machines. But it’s lively viewing, and the porch feels private. Reminds me of when I was four years old, and would climb a small tree in the backyard, high enough to see over the fence. Behind that house was an apartment building, and I would watch the happenings. Even at that age, interested in observing the lives of others. You have been warned.
Spring fever
The morning slips away. I get up early, I work out, I have breakfast with the kids and see them off to school intact, and then I nap. I have to nap. If the nap is left out of the equation, a fog descends. Napping is a strange occupation, almost similar to meditation. I slip into liminal consciousness and sense myself mulling over problems or concerns. When my time’s up (I set my interior alarm, a surprisingly effective system), I wake and spring upright. And go on with my day.
Today it seems there’s much to do in little time. It’s a half-day work-day. And I have things to do, scattered bits here and there. But I can’t seem to get rolling on anything in particular. I know I’m not using this limited time terribly efficiently. Maybe it would be a better use of my morning to go outside with my camera and take photos of the crocuses blooming in our back yard. Or the tiger lilies already poking their stems through the earth. Or to hang a load of laundry (yes, in March; it’s that warm). Or to start supper.
But instead, I sit here in my office … and wait …
:::
**Juliet news** I have to share this beautiful response to The Juliet Stories by my literary friend Heather Birrell. I was honoured to be an early reader of the manuscript that would become her second book, Mad Hope, which is just being published RIGHT NOW! Look for it. We’ll be reading together at a few events this spring. More info to come.
The week in suppers: March (no) break (downs)
cabbage stir-fry
**Monday’s menu** Angel hair noodles in Japanese broth. Stir-fried tofu with carrots and cabbage.
**Reminiscent of** Mr. Noodle, on which I survived during my university years. Reminsicent in a good way. I really really really liked this meal. It used up the leftover miso soup from the night before. And it used up the tofu from the bottom of the soup. And it used up a really aged-looking cabbage.
**Secret** Chinese five-spice sprinkled into individual bowls, as desired, at the table.
**Tuesday’s menu** Black beans. Baked rice. Tortillas. Yogurt and feta cheese. Green salad with grated apples and carrots.
**Wednesday’s menu** Gallo pinto (beans and rice fried together). Roasted root veggies.
**Kevin-in-charge** I had a reading and left early. The root veggies took far longer than Kevin had anticipated, so we ate them when I got home later that evening (the kids missed out).
**Thursday’s menu** Baked potatoes. Butter, sour cream, grated cheese, chopped green onions. Stir-fried napa cabbage and carrots with ginger.
**Secret** Stir-fry the napa for no longer than three minutes. Remove from heat, toss with tamari sauce mixed with red Thai curry paste, and serve immediately. Keeps the crunch.
**Friday’s menu** Hamburger curry with tomatoes, peas, and turnips. Steamed rice. Leftover black beans.
**Last-minute** Was working on a story and threw this together as the kids were walking through the door from skating. Luckily we had one package of local, organic burger in the freezer to work with. Sometimes meat just seems to equal convenience.
:::
**Weeekend kitchen accomplishments** Eight loaves of bread (!!). Batch of yogurt (semi-successful; it’s been awhile so maybe I’ve lost my touch). Cupcakes (with Fooey and AppleApple).
**Cooking without kids** Nachos. Antijitos. Leftover black beans. Sour cream, salsa. Avocado and egg salad.
**Because** Kids were too busy jumping on the trampoline with the sprinkler rigged up underneath. Yes, it was a hot day for winter. And the last of their holiday. We made it!
Weekend happenings
The girls made cupcakes.
We used my Grandma’s mixmaster.
This was the hardest part …
… filling the cupcake papers as evenly as possible.
Waiting for the buzzer.
No photos of the decorating and sprinkle and icing-sugar frenzy that followed. And actually, I lied. The hardest part was getting the two girls to agree on a baking project they could do together. I did not chronicle the frustration, the multiple cookbooks consulted, the wishing we had special ingredients, the frustration, the accusations, the tears, or the way we’d almost given up on the idea when suddenly I came across a cake mix in the cupboard. Yes, these are cupcakes made from a mix. But who cares. We did it. They did it. And that made my heart glad.
Playing wii at Grandma’s.
My heart got even gladder when I dropped the kids off at Grandma’s house for an overnight extravaganza. Unexpectedly, plans shifted, and I suddenly had 21 consecutive hours completely to myself with nothing particular to do. Nowhere particular to be. No one else’s interests or needs to consider. Can you imagine? What would you do?
Here’s what I did.
I went to yoga and laid in shavasana for as long as I wanted. I took food to some sick friends. I ran in the park. I played the piano and sang. I went out for sushi and to a silly movie with a friend. I invited my siblings over for a drink on a whim (an after-midnight whim, no less). I slept in. And then I got up and behaved responsibly and cleaned up the sprinkle/icing-sugar frenzy, vacuumed, washed dishes, and listened to the radio without interruption, enjoying particularly the conversation on The Sunday Edition about the Canadian publishing industry. And then time was up. And that was just fine. Because I felt so much better.