March goes out in a blaze of flowers

These are the first to bloom this year of the lovely. starry pink tulips sent to me last year by my newest blog reader. I think there will be more: some are in the back yard, on the north side, where things come later. Today I'm planting my nasturtium seeds in the ground. The other annuals and climbing vines are popping up in the flats, and the yard is being taken over by chickweed, which I'm getting my exercise extirpating.

I've started a separate reading blog, which will be added to the list as soon as it has some images on it. My vow is always to have pictures as well as text.

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday in both the Eastern and Western traditions, and the ladies of a local Greek church are preparing wonderful food for lunch. I have a big order placed to take out to the country.

Here are more flowers from the yard. See how the bluebells and trillium have advanced.

I'm stunned

And I'm flabbergasted over Oprah's new book club choice. Who woulda thunk it? I don't think I even have an appropriate picture for this post. This one's not bleak enough, but it's a destination they might get to.

Spring Comes

I can't resist posting a nosegay of signs of spring. It's a lovely and innocent season, with only, maybe, the wild bloodroot showing in its new-born freshness the blood in the root, or maybe the message comes from the two sets of twin newborn goats out at Holcombe Branch, four, but minus one, the infant who was "lost." Birth and death, they're all there in the seed, in the bulb. The new shoots bear in their newness the promise of eventual death -- and regeneration. No wonder the old farmers and citizens were more aware of death, of the inexorable sadness and innate beauty of things. Maybe now in our clean and technological, managed world, Charlotte's Web would have a harder time gaining acceptance. In the new versions of an old tale, the wolf doesn't eat grandma but stows her in the closet. Is it any wonder than horror films have full page ads in the Times? Maybe our subconscious craves recognition of blood, or sorrow, of death in the midst of life. To parents I would say, Would you rather your child be exposed to Chucky and Saw or read that in "once upon a time" wolves may have et grandma but the wise hunter would come to release her intact, that goblins could take away babies but mother love wins out always and the baby returns, that Charlotte dies but her three babies live? I know where I come down on this one. So, in the spirit of Wiliam Blake, who knew that Innocence and Experience were the two eternally fused aspects of life on earth, here are a few images of the innocence and beauty of spring.

Blubells (Mertensia)

Trillium budding

March brings breezes loud and shrill,

Stirs the dancing daffodil.

Christina Rossetti, The Garden Year

Earth, Air, Fire, Water

I went to the beach and did as I pleased. Other than mistakenly using dish liquid for sauteeing I had a great time, and that wasn't even awful, only in thought. I swam in the ocean, picked up shells, walked on the sand, saw kites flying, and roasted hot dogs.

Layers of Housekeeping

It's more than just keeping the house clean: that's just the template for doing what you want to do without being hindered by dirt and clutter. It's keeping things, and bringing them out at the right time, like these lovely calendars made in different years by my sons. The soul of the librarian is part archivist. I once was visited by an acquaintance who commented on all the papers on my desk (which was at the time situated in my dining room). I asked him what he did with his papers. He said simply, "I don't have any!" Now I use a computer, too, but my life is not paperless, nor do I wish it to be. Paper is history.

Yesterday while raking my yard I found fragments of a handwritten letter. These fragments are fascinating, as you have to infer a story from only a part. Hints of drama, like "AA" and "he refuses to" and "don't know if my life" and the like. Someone once collected such shards of lives and wrote about it in the NY Times.. Someone else has a website for tiny things -- maybe it's Squirl. I'll find out. I'd like to add my Scarlet Tanager head to such a site. The skull is covered with still-red feathers, and there's a small beak. Once I peeled back part of the skin to see the little translucent skull, but the skin and feathers still cling. It's from the maritime forest at Hunting Island, SC.

Of course, there's the necessary but less inviting financial layer to housekeeping, and I need to get back to Google spreadsheets and my taxes.

Meanwhile, here are two lovely details from my house, Royal Worcester and the fringe on an old linen: