Is that snow?

March 19, 2020 – Is that snow?

         You know how it gets quiet at night when it snows.  I woke up this morning much later than usual now that the schools are closed and the buses no longer lumber up and down the subdivision road.

         Then I remembered, not snow, just the absence of school buses waking me up.  I glance out the windows on the way to the kitchen and notice we have a dense fog hanging low to the ground.  I don’t see a sunrise as there is fog.

         I pop a K-cup into the coffee maker and check the water level.  Then suddenly I re-think the quietness and glance out the kitchen windows.  Is that snow on the windshield of my car that the feral cats have slid down leaving long streaks?

         To get a better look, I actually pull open the lace curtains  – not snow – last night’s rain has covered the car in Bradford Pear blossoms.  Those cats sure had a fun time sliding down the wet petals on the windshield.

         It has been hard looking for charm or amusement during this COVID19 CRISIS.  Yes, I would say it is a crisis – trying to stay out of harm’s way by shopping ahead and shopping at odd times and trying to slip into small establishments and keeping one’s distance.

         The angst that hangs in the air as I try my best to stay at home, except pharmacy or grocery shopping, but I have to get a couple of things in the mail, entities not set up for on-line banking.  Schools closed, libraries closed, churches closed.  Brave cashiers at the stores that have remained open.  GOD save them I think when I see them and press on my brightest smile, their return smiles are fleeting.  They’ve got hard duty, they may be young, but you can still see the stress on their faces.

         This uncertainty and stress level is almost palpable.  I remember when I was a teenager in high school and the stress then was the death toll of the Vietnam war plastered on the front of the newspaper with a map of Vietnam and the DMZ marked that drug on for months on end.  That same uncertainty, the hearing of the “death toll” of those that have died in the United States in the last few weeks.

         This is a different type of war, this is on our doorsteps, in the shadows of every place we venture out temporarily.  I’ve cancelled routine dental cleanings, I’ve turned to the computer dozens of times, but can’t seem to eek out much of anything fun or clever to say. Who would have thought I would become speechless - mark that on your calendar.

         I heard about the death of a dear friend and her funeral is being postponed until a better time, due to this situation.

         I wonder, when that will be.

         Meanwhile, I do a lot of Suduko and my cat, Jasmine, seems to be always in my lap – I guess she can sense my nervousness, my concern.

         And, then the rains, seem daily and when the sun comes out, the ground is wet and slippery and I am picking up the endless limbs and clearing away the fall leaves that haven’t been swept aside by the winter winds, being extra careful not to slip and fall and break something.

         I have daffodils and tulips up cheering me.  I planted out the broccoli, cabbage, spinach and Swiss chard transplants last week.  They love this cool, rainy weather.  The roses have been cut back, and all but four of the Maidenhair grasses have been cut back.  I usually sit on the ground doing that, but I'll have to try a stool on the last group as the ground is wet.

         When the sun pops out again I will need to attend to the dandelions that need to be carved out – bright yellow blossoms – making a showing in drifts here and there.  I can see from the house white violets dotting the back property line near the Kudzu zone.

         The mail delivery is now the highlight of our day as we are hunkered down and staying out of the public.

         Yesterday I had a surprise package.  I’ve had a flurry of ordering things on line that I couldn’t get in local stores a few weeks back, but I wondered about this big box as I thought I'd received everything.

         The substitute mail carrier brought it.  I hadn’t meet him before, he pulled in the driveway as I was loading our trash in the trunk of my car.  Wasn’t he surprised at the stack of magazines and catalogs he handed me.

         “I have a package for you, too,” he said.

         He climbed out of his car that was packed to the roof with multiple trays of mail and I noticed the back of his hatchback was stacked with boxes. 

         He handed me a big box and I read the label, Yup, had my name on it and then I looked at the return address.

         “Littleton, Mass.,” I said aloud as I pondered what I might have ordered.  I didn’t have anything on back order, and Littleton, Massachusetts was “home country” for me – my grandparents lived there their whole life.

         “I can’t image what this is . . .”

         Cheerily the mail carrier said, “Must be a gift then,”  with the voice of a mischievous leprechaun. He closed his door and backed out of the drive.

         In the house I sorted the mail, then took the rest of the trash out to the trunk of my car and came in and opened the box.

         “Oh, pigs!  They are silly, they are cute, and I didn’t order them.”  I fished out the invoice and looked at the packing slip from whatever works.

         Ken, my brother in Massachusetts, ordered them.

         I showed my husband and we chuckled and were delighted with them.  I have them on the floor in front of the TV so we can admire them.

         What an uplifting surprise during this gloomy climate of the unknown.

         Thank you, dear brother Ken.  Now to decide where to put them outside in the spring.