Now Playing: Spring
Topic: Weather
"Spring has sprung
The grass is riz;
I wonder where
The flowers is."

I think I got that out of a Readers' Digest sometime back before the Flood!

Spring has come to Central Texas. It's time to mow, the red wasps are moving back into their spot right outside the back door, mold is thick in the air...

Those ridiculous trees that get flowers before they get leaves are poofing out in pink, purple and white. I am tempted to put the houseplants back out, but, after so many years, I know better! There will be one more freeze. There always is. Usually, it comes two days after I haul all the damn plants out of the bathtub and drag them to the front porch.

I have a lovely oval bathtub, with jets. Too bad I haven't been in it since November!

Spring always feels vaguely ominous to me, because the heat and humidity are not far behind. I was born and bred in England, and moved to western Canada when I was a child. My skin was not designed for this climate. I am way too young for "liver spots," but have quite a collection of them. I spend my summers either cowering in the air conditioning, or dodging from shade patch to shade patch. And eagerly anticipating Autumn.

Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: My Favourite Christmas
Topic: Weather
My senior year in high school, I had a boyfriend. His name was Bert Bessembinders, and he up and moved to Utah in October. Bummer! Come Christmas, I was supposed to take the bus from Vancouver Island to Logan, Utah, to spend Christmas with his family. I was all excited to be taking such a trip on my own, let alone seeing Bert again.

Dec 23 arrived, and with it, a blizzard. The bus was cancelled, and, therefore, my trip. I was devastated! All the local holiday parties had been planned without me. Christmas Eve promised to be a dismal evening, spent alone. My parents even had a party to go to!

My best friend took me with her to a nice party. The hostess was one of our little crowd of non-achievers, and the whole gang was there. I hadn't wanted to go, figuring everyone would be paired off except me. As any teen can tell you, that is a fate to be avoided at all cost!

We had the living room for the party, Betty Jean's parents being banished to the rec room, and munchies and hot chocolate abounded. Yes, folks, we were the kids who didn't drink and have semi-public sex at every available opportunity! It was warm in there, the lights were dim, and we were listening to Bobby Vinton and the Beatles. Suddenly, somebody came up with a suggestion: "Let's go carolling!"

The snow had stopped by then, and the night was crisp, clear and frosty. This was before towns had their "Christmas Family Night," with lines for Santa and whatnot cluttering up the town square. Carolling happened. It wasn't organized, promoted, advertised or rewarded. Ok, I admit we stopped the longest at houses that looked as if there was a party going on, because thence cometh cookies and cocoa. But, for the most part, we just walked around the small town, singing our hearts out and giggling in the frosty air.

It has remained one of my favourite Christmases ever!

Winter on Vancouver Island
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: Uphill Both Ways, Barefoot in the Snow
Topic: Weather
My trek to school, as a kid, was usually not too bad. I went about 1/3 of a mile down a logging road, cut behind the Catholic church and cemetery, and came out on the school driveway. It was pleasant through the woods, and only slightly spooky behind the church. Of course, weather was a factor.

One day, my mother called the school to have them make sure I brought home my galoshes, which had been left for months. Galoshes are tricky things, intended to pull on over one's shoes. However, they have very limited stretch, and refused to go on over my new school Oxfords. As Oxfords have laces, and galoshes don't, I elected to walk home with my shoes tied to my book bag, and my galoshes on my sock-feet.

A snowstorm blew in. By the time the offending articles had been found and my shoes secured, it was cold out, and a heavy, wet snow was falling. That trip home was a nightmare! My feet were numb, I was soaked through and chilled, my woolen mittens were stiff, and my bare knees were blue. I remember wondering why my mother didn't come down to meet me. She usually did when I was late. I pictured her rescuing me with a blanket, and a thermos of hot chocolate. I was crying, and calling for her like a four-year-old trapped in a bad dream. My voice was lost in the wind, snow, and woods. The final stretch was up a very steep hill, and I sat at the bottom for a while, not sure I could make it up by myself. Darkness was falling by then, and the winter twilight almost over. Eventually, the sight of the house lights at the top of the hill roused my to finish my plodding journey.

There was Mom, acting as if there were nothing unusual about that day's trip home from school.

Today
Now Playing: Rain
Topic: Weather
Today it is raining. A cold drizzle that reminds me of England or Vancouver Island. When I was a child in England, girls didn't wear long pants, except for play-wear. I had chronic cold, wet knees. I was a skinny little thing, with no insulation. Discomfort was a way of life.

Here, in Central Texas, this kind of light, persistent rain is a Godsend. It soaks into our thirsty earth, instead of running off and taking a good portion of the thirsty earth with it. It will be a good year for Spring crops, including chiggers, fire ants and mosquitoes.

I don't garden. For a person with an English background, this is tantamount to heresy, and a certain disappointment for my parents. We have nearly an acre of land here, and the only thing we grow is grass for deer. We love deer. We feed deer, probably to the disgust of most of our neighbours. The general feeling in these parts is that deer are all very well during hunting season, but the rest of the time, they are a nuisance. They eat the garden and get tangled in the bumpers of cars. There's a reason for the 25 mph speed limit through our neighbourhood.

Back to gardening. I loathe it. I am blessed with good fingernails, which grow very nicely if I don't abuse them too much. The feeling of dirt under them is abhorrent to me.

My parents were gardening fools. There was a vegetable garden at home, of about 1/4 acre, plus raspberry canes, strawberry pyramids, fruit trees, and the blackberry bush that had to be beaten back every few days. The slogging started in March, and continued until October. The digging, planting, tending, weeding, picking, canning and freezing made a full-time job for my mother, and part-time for Dad. Eventually, they got tired of my griping, and let me keep house and make meals instead. I wasn't real wild about doing that, either, but it was better than scrabbling around in the freezing mud.