Winter's Last Grasp?

"This better be winter's last gasp," said my husband as we unloaded the minivan and hauled groceries up the hill, wind howling through our grove of cedar trees.

Actually, we've had a pretty fits-and-starts kind of winter. Lots of snow in December, a cold snap and thaw in January, and a pretty mild February. It could be worse, and it may well get worse. We've had nasty snow storms as late as April 8, and one year, we had snow on May 9. It was gone the next day. But still.

It's been an especially vexing week for me, with lots of late nights. I've spent time with people I like, and tangled with people I don't like and for good reason. How long does it take an adult to move on from a disappointment and not carry a grudge, hell bent on hurting or even destroying someone else? Sometimes I swear the world is full of sociopaths.

But I have the warmth of an old house on a hill, and a loving and supportive spouse. I have good friends. I have my books and my music. I have the birds in my backyard.

Lately I've been re-reading all the Mary Stewart favorites of my youth: Tightly woven tales of suspense written in an era where heroines were ladies and there was no gratuitous sex. Call me old fashioned. But I think the best way to spend a winter weekend is reading an old favorite.

What's your old favorite book?

Lenten Fare is My Favorite

Growing up in the Craftsman bungalow on Main Street, I fell in love with shrimp and seafood in general. Cooked shrimp in a cold salad with eggs and peas, or French-fried shrimp at area supper clubs when my father took a busman's holiday to see what the competition was doing. We kids went along, and I always ordered shrimp.

It was a Friday night dish in Lent. At Friday noon, my brother Rob and I would walk the four short blocks home from Holy Savior School for fish sticks and french fries, or salmon and mashed potatoes, almost always served with peas, but sometimes creamed corn. Then we'd bundle up again and head back to school, walking atop the snow banks on Main Street.

If we were lucky, my parents would have a hankering for shrimp or lobster or even clam chowder on Friday night. The sea food festival in our kitchen made Lent worthwhile. Giving up candy was no problem.

The period from Valentine's Day to Easter is one I remember well. Even as a child, I detected a subtle change in the light outside after mid-February, and I felt the waning of winter. On mild Saturdays I'd head downtown to the public library and the melting snow would run across the sidewalk in dark little rivulets. Downtown was about a mile from our neighborhood, and by the time I got home late in the afternoon, loaded down with books, it was chilly again and I was happy to come into the warmth. Saturday night dinners were often baked beans or grilled cheese sandwiches, and evenings were spent in my room, curled up with my treasure trove of new books.

I often yearn for those simple meals and those simpler days, especially when life gets harried and stressful. I've never been a big meat eater, and simple, slightly offbeat meals have become my specialty.

Color in the Dead of Winter

I understand the whole concept of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I don't much like dark days, except in early November when they are kind of a novelty after several seasons of brilliance.

But in mid-February, the is a subtle shift in the angle of the sun that is akin to the amber light of late autumn. It is at this time when I seek color.

I recently bought two coats at late-season prices. One is a pumpkin colored long coat, the other a spice-colored short coat. I keep flowers at my desk, and today was pleasantly surprised when a friend sent me cream roses with pink edges in a pink fluted bowl.

Tonight I went to a business event and marveled at the beauty of the display pictured above of nearly every fruit and vegetable available in the midwest.

How can anyone be unhappy when we live in a world of such beauty?

One of the Most Beautiful Villages in France

Late summer in La Roque-Gageac. Deep winter where I live. Nuff said.

P.S. Laissez les bons temps rouler!