March 22, 2023
I do keep my eye on the
weather forecast, because if it’s planning to be icky out, I won’t be. Out,
that is. Late last night when I checked my go-to website, weathernetwork.com,
it was to find an interesting comment: “In typical spring fashion, Ontario will
experience pretty much everything the season has to offer in the next week.”
That quote gives a whole new
depth of meaning to that oft quoted phrase, “if you don’t like the weather just
wait a few moments and it will surely change.”
We’re just hoping for enough
sunshine over the next couple of days to melt the build up of ice on the road
in front of our house. This year, for whatever reason, the snow-plow drivers
decided to plow the middle of our street, staying a good couple of feet away
from the curb on this side of the road.
Even after our daughter took
the time and considerable effort to move my car to the cross street (we’re on a
corner), thus leaving the road in front of this house and the one next to it
clear of vehicles—something, by the way, she did each and every time the snow
came down—they ran that plow down the middle of the street and called it done.
The one good thing about that?
The other two people who live in this house are now convinced that before the
next winter strikes, we will purchase a brand-new snow blower. And not a
cheap one this time, either, thank you very much Mr. Parsimonious. This one has
to be what’s termed a “self propelled” one, because nobody living in this house
has the strength to push one of those behemoths on their own anymore.
Meanwhile, under the heading
of looking toward spring, seeds have been planted. David has a series of little
starter containers that have potting soil and seeds. They are set out upstairs
in front of the south-facing window. This happened, I believe, while I was on my
retreat…and apparently sprouting has occurred.
All things considered the
winter just passed, at least in our little corner of the globe, was not that
bad. It just featured several concentrated strings of days together when that
were challenging. Not like those long-ago winters when the snow came mid October
and stayed until April. No, this year, it came, and then a handful of days
later, it went, over and over again. And of course, then it gave us such a good
dumping right at the beginning of March….actually it feels as if that last dumping
we got has lasted the longest of all the snow falls that came before it this winter.
But it is now officially
spring by the calendar and seeds have been planted, and they are sprouting, so
it is really just a matter of time. Sometimes, one does need to keep one’s eye
off the calendar in much the same way as one doesn’t sit and watch a kettle
come to the boil.
In television land, The Voice has
returned. The last season with Blake Shelton, and David and I are trying to
decide whether or not we will watch it next time. I really think we will try
and see how we feel as it goes along. We didn’t begin our viewership of the
program because of one of the coaches. We began because of the concept of the
Blind audition. We quite liked that idea when we first watched, and that hasn’t
changed.
And speaking of seeds having
been planted…. I still haven’t managed to lock those writing boundaries of mine
into place. One of the things that I learned on our retreat—or I should say
that I relearned—was that it’s up to me to focus on the matter at hand,
to settle myself BICFOK (butt in chair, fingers on keyboard) and just write the
damn book.
I’ve somehow slid into the habit
of allowing myself to be distracted, of throwing in the towel a bit too easily.
I’ve managed to acquire a habit I don’t like, and that is one of not holding on
tightly enough to the things that really matter.
In other words, I have managed
to allow myself to forget that sometimes, one has to fight for what they want
to do—and that fighting for it can also be, sometimes, the whole point.
Love,
Morgan
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