The Sleeping Rhododendron

Not a bad book title, although I am constantly thinking of those. This rhodie will be alive and thriving in fewer than 90 days. Spring in New England is hesitant, pouty, precocious--something like a two-year-old.

NO, I will NOT be warm. Well, I won't be warm for two days in a row. So THERE.

NO, I will NOT stop with the freezing gusts of wind. They're GOOD for you. I will let the daffodils come up but I will BLOW them down again.

I don't LIKE daffodils. Or crocuses. Well, only sometimes.

It will NEVER be reliably warm. NYAH NYAH.

We who live here understand the juvenile nature of the weather. It's contrary and spoiled and you might as well accept that it wins. You never do. People are flinty and reticent in New England. In time you accept them and like them for it. Not many phoney types here. Not many "hey, howya doin', goodtoseeya" greetings in the grocery. You're lucky if they acknowledge you in the grocery. You have to make your own friends. They don't come over to your house to find you.





Mostly it's because it looks like this so much of the time.




In class now everyone comes in with a heavy ski parka, scarves, mittens, the works. It's hard to believe that when we part, they will all be wearing tank tops and shorts with words across the rear end. I have room to put MUSHY ZUCCHINI on mine should I choose to do so. But I won't. I want to maintain decorum, after all.


A bientot

love,
Becky