It only took two warm sunny days. Spring was waiting, coiled, ready to . . . well, spring. At first I noticed a hazy redness in the woods–maples and redbud. Then I noticed that gorgeous new-green of willow trees along the streams. Then . . . bam! Forsythia, daffodils, crocuses, worms, birds and–pollen.
Yesterday morning I looked out my bedroom window to check the Pear Tree-o-meter. What a difference a week makes! Jealous of my neighbor’s daffodils–I am alway too weary of summer to plant bulbs in the fall–I rushed out and bought flats of yellow pansies. I planted sunny faces around our mailbox and put the leftovers in a new spring-green planter on the porch.
Then I hauled out the porch rabbits, my vintage porch stuff (yellow Pepsi crate, watering can, roller skates with yellow wheels, milk bottle rack with old soda bottles), painted the bucket bench apple green this year, perched a bird cage filled with fake ivy in it, and frowned at the chair cushions. Someone who shall remain nameless (Persnickety) slept her grubby self in the chairs all fall. Not even X-14 run through a fire hose could get these cushions clean. So, like I do about every two years, I ordered new ones from Lowe’s (I’m particular about my cushion fabric, none of that dark, Tuscany look for me).
In Home Depot, I was tempted to buy a huge flowering pot of beautiful purple aster-like flowers, but reigned myself in. It’s still mid-March. Cold weather will be back. I noticed my daylilies are up about 8 inches. I also noticed the weeds. See the chickweed in our flower bed? I couldn’t believe I had to pull weeds to plant those pansies! Didn’t matter if it was dark and wet and dreary outside for weeks and days on end. Spring was just waiting . . .
. . . to make me miserable! I have the worst allergies in the history of the world. I’m either dripping like a faucet or doped up on Benadryl. My Claritin is like an M&M–I’ve had to resort to the serious stuff to bring my histimines under control.
And yes, I’m on Facebook. I have resisted this with all my fiber, but more editors and agents "want" writers to be on Facebook. I am not a big fan. First, it’s ugly and is offensive to my finer sensibilities. FB reminds me of the old newsreels in movie theaters–"News of the World" blaring at you. Second, the more friends you have, which makes you feel good (you really like me!), the more twaddling information you have to scroll through. Do I care that someone went to Wal-Mart? Does anyone care that I went to Home Depot? And what is up with that stupid aged-brick-farm thing? And third–well, I don’t have a third so I’ll just say again the format is fiddly and makes me twitch.
I like my blogs. I won’t give up blogging for FB in a million years (okay, I said I wouldn’t go on FB in a million years, too). My blogs are chosen carefully. They are inspirational, friendly, informative, often with gorgeous photos. I can relax with my blogs. FB makes me feel like I’m sitting in a busted recliner.
Thank heavens for my blog buddies! I know you’re on FB, too. But I bet you secretly enjoy blogging better, just like me. Oh, and another thing, I will never, ever Twitter. Not in a million years. You heard it here first!