This time of year when the late-winter skies are so often blanketed in grey, I have a physical ache for color and light and sun. Optimism comes more as a choice, it seems, than a natural state of being. I find myself ignoring what really needs to get done and instead pacing the perimeter of our yard, rethinking the garden in its entirety. The perennials are there, hibernating underfoot, but I cannot will any memory of their whereabouts. Trees are bare, their ridges, fissures and furrows in plain view. But I can't recall just how full their branches get, or remember exactly how much sun filters through to the beds below. And though I appreciate the art found in the knotted, naked mess of our wisteria, I am craving more lush surroundings. Summertime seems an eternity away. And yet! The other day I spotted a crocus in the yard. The angle of the afternoon sun is stronger. Promises, more promises of the season's coming change.
We've kept busy lately. Days there are no school we march our runny noses to museums and then return home again to cuddle on couches and read and read and read. And cook. Yes, there has been lots of cooking lately. This is mostly because Genevieve isn't particularly enjoyable to have out at restaurants at the moment. Cecile is going through a bit of a picky-eating phase, which is frustrating because it's so unlike her. But she has such focus in the kitchen. When the mood is right, she can be quite the little sous chef. My Genevieve is a downright delightful child. Truly. Ear infections continue to come and go with her, but she remains mostly upbeat and I am grateful my winter melancholy hasn't rubbed off on her.
I can hardly believe camp registration is upon us. Perhaps that's why summertime is on the brain. This year, Genevieve will be eligible to attend a program, and so I'm asking myself how much time I want to myself. I am out of practice at "me" and I am so excited to be reacquainted. But I can hear the echoes of every grandmother I've ever met, their it-goes-so-fasts and gone-before-you-know-its. It's true I barely remember what life was like before someone else dictated the emotional tick-tock of my everyday. What a beat it is.