April 27, 2022
The grass is greening, and the
birds are singing. I have no talent for knowing which birds sing which songs; I
think I recognize the song of a pigeon and of course, whippoorwills, but beyond
that, I’m at a real loss. I even spent some time last year using YouTube to
play for me the sounds of common birds, but my capacity for recalling that is
on a par with the rest of my abilities lately. Of course, to be completely
honest, I wasn’t very patient with that process. Anyone who knows me well would
not be shocked by that fact.
There’s this one avian lilt that
I always associate with the arrival of spring, and that is the birdsong I’ve
been listening to this week. While I can’t identify the species of the singer,
I can identify the joy I feel listening to it. Therefore, I’ve decided that’s good
enough.
This past weekend found us—self
proclaimed hermits that we are—out and about among people. The first occasion
was on Friday, where we joined our second daughter, along with her two now
adult children (our grandchildren) and a very small handful of their friends
for dinner. The occasion was the graduation of granddaughter, Emma, as a
paralegal. She graduated with honors, and so it was a very happy occasion.
The restaurant they chose was
the Red Lobster, and the evening was a lovely time. One of our great granddaughters,
Emma’s baby who’s now a toddler, was there as well, of course. One of the
funniest moments was one I only heard about. Renee was sitting beside me, and I
got up to go to the Lady’s room while her attention was on the other end of the
table. Then she looked to her right,
expecting to see me, and of course I wasn’t there. She said, “Oh no, we’ve lost
GG!” That’s what I’m mostly called now, GG, for Great Grandmother. Best title
ever!
Despite that everyone assured the
little miss that I had just gone to the bathroom, she insisted on seeing for
herself—which her mother obliged by bringing her into that room. We washed our
hands together and then went back to the table.
The next day I attended a bridal
shower for our soon-to-be-new granddaughter. Both gatherings were small, less
than 12 people at each one, and I was mostly okay with attending them. I always
knew that it would take me some time to venture out. David and our daughter
have been slightly bolder in that regard. They’ve gone out to breakfast on a
regular basis during the weekends, as well as hitting a couple of major big box
stores in the last couple of months.
I’m not quite ready for that
level of exposure. At the restaurant on Friday, I wore my mask except when
seated at the table. The next day, at the shower, my daughter-in-law’s house
was well ventilated, and all in attendance had been fully vaccinated—as had the
guests at dinner the night before.
I am taking baby steps because
I believe we’re going to be living with Covid a long time, if not forever. I
imagine that down the road, people will just add a covid shot or two to their annual
regimen. Just as most people get their flu shot every year and keep up on their
other preventative measures.
I’m happy to report that I
have daffodils blooming outside my bedroom window. That window has a southern exposure,
and those bulbs are always the first to come up. I have yet to venture out to
discover whether or not my roses have survived this past winter. I’ll likely do
that in the next week or two. They’ve been hardy, but really, I likely shouldn’t
be entrusted with the beautiful perennials in the first place. I really don’t
do a very good job of caring for them. What had been given to me as brushes obtained
from a greenhouse are—or I should say were, as of last summer—more like wild
roses now. They’re still pretty but not quite as they should be.
We’ve had a couple of
beautifully warm and sunny days in the last week, but Mother Nature this year
seems determined to hang onto wintery weather with both claws, doesn’t she? She
is truly testing our patience this year.
I’ve a history of being pretty
good when it comes to tests. But in this particular case, when the test is one
of patience, I think I’ll be lucky if I escape earning myself an F.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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