Arousal. That’s the term used to describe waking up from a period of hibernation. Here in Saskatchewan, we’re all experiencing arousal after a long, harsh winter spent hunkering down.
Gerry, Molly, and I are just back from a short walk in the Wakamow Valley where it’s wet and muddy and the last of the ice is disappearing from Thunder Creek. Blundstone’s are still de rigueur.
The forecast for the coming week is stellar—the warmest week so far this year—double Celsius digits every day. The ground is still frozen, but I’m going to start tomato plants downstairs. Dropping tiny seeds in pots and creating mini-greenhouses with a heat mat and plastic film means it’s really spring.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about the first words in Mary Oliver’s poem, “Mindful.” You know it.
Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight.
Some days, I feel like I’m living the antithesis of Oliver’s mindful intention when it seems like every day I read or hear something that almost kills me with despair. I make choices about what and how much to consume, doing my best to gauge how much is too much. These days, that’s very little. I am tapped out in many ways.
We are in the midst of an election cycle here in Canada. In a few weeks (thank the good Lord, this isn’t going to drag on), we’ll have a newly elected Prime Minister. I know where my vote is going, so I’m neither following nor engaging in the rhetoric.
I’m disturbed by what’s happening in the country to the south of us. I have no words to express how I feel about being in a trade war with our former friends and allies (well, I do, but I try to keep this a peaceful space so I’ll hold them close.)
I’m distressed by I’m reading about the treatment of TN1 visa holders (which I was for a few years) and green card holders (which both Gerry and I were for seven years). I can’t imagine the day-to-day angst people must be feeling and am thankful we’re back in Canada.
The Canadian government has issued a travel advisory to citizens traveling to the United States. We won’t be. Probably ever. Occasionally, in the depths of this winter, I reminisced about the years we lived in western Washington when winter was a different animal. In the fall, I planted bright yellow pansies in my yard to provide a spark of bright on the gloomy rainy days of which there were many. We didn’t even own a snow shovel. It’s strange to know that the place we once called home is now inaccessible to us, but we’ll survive.
In other, more edifying news, I video chatted with our granddaughter earlier. She’s just back from spending spring break in Cancun and was eager to reconnect and share her experience. Our close relationship is one of the greatest joys in my life.
Gerry has enjoyed a sports-centric afternoon, watching our grandson’s hockey game (it got loud for a while) and curling. Moose Jaw is hosting the World Curling Championship and our city is hosting visitors from all over the world. My husband prefers to avoid the crowds and watch from the comfort of our living room.
I’ve been lost in a book. My 12-year-old Kindle is starting to let me know she’s getting tired. It might be time to upgrade soon. We’ll see.
Meanwhile, life carries on.
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