A huge bouquet of forsythia branches adorns a table by the window. These are one of the sure signs of spring. Crocus and daffodils of course, but forsythia is easily forced to bloom a bit earlier inside. Bulbs can be, too, but that’s more work than some of us wish to engage in these days.
Each season has its special joys, but a delight for me (or perhaps anyone who gardens) is to watch for the next plant that will bloom. Buds swell, and invariably it’s a surprise to note that the expected flower to open is later than a previously unnoticed one.
When we had a rhododendron nursery in Grays Harbor, a local reporter interviewed me prior to a show.
“Which one is your favorite?” she asked. Difficult decision.
Never miss a local story.
“The one that just opened,” I told her.
Daylight Savings Time again, and for the first time ever, I forgot to reset the clocks. Sunday morning as I realized we were an hour late, my first thought was of my friend Curt, who left this world in late December. Since the advent of email, Curt always notified friends it was time to change the clocks. I always smiled, as I remembered, but it wasn’t set in place this year. He would have been tickled, I think.
We’ve just lost the third classmate since Christmas. Jani Williams, a friend since second grade, died a few days ago. Seventy-four years of friendship. She was a special lady of many talents, but always quiet and unassuming in public.
One of the things we shared was marching in the Peninsula High School drill team. Jani was one of the Majorettes, but I wasn’t coordinated enough to learn to twirl a baton.
Easter is late this year, although not as late as possible. My grandmother taught me the “rule” of when Easter comes — the first Sunday after the full moon after the 21st of March, which is the Spring Equinox. Who decreed that? The church council of Nicea, back in 325 AD.
An old German tale is the supposed myth of the Easter Bunny. In the time of a famine, when eggs were quite precious, a woman decorated a few for her children. As the children found the eggs, they saw a rabbit hopping away. The bunny must have left them the valuable surprises.
Speaking of Easter bunnies, if anyone has a contact for the Blue Bunny who frequents the Key Peninsula Civic Center each year, I’d love to be in touch with her! A rumor, which well may be true, is that this will be her final year there.
Murder mysteries are not my choice of reading, so I’d never picked up an Agatha Christie book. Then I heard about her writing some romance novels. I found a book of six and enjoyed them. She called herself Mary Westmacott for these stories.
My hubby bought a huge box of Christie’s books at our KP Historical society rummage sale, and I noticed one was an autobiography. I picked it up and decided to read it. The amazing thing was a kind of déjà vu, as when reading the “romantic” stories, there were many instances of children with their nannies, and I’d idly wondered if any of these events were her own experiences. Yes, they were!
The next Christie book I’ve started is a lighthearted description of digging in the Tells of Syria for ancient artifacts with her archeologist husband. It’s likely some of his finds were among those recently destroyed by ISIS. Such a difference in attitudes from 100 years ago.