Yesterday, the last day of winter, was about as gorgeous a day as you can get. Skies blue, sun bright, breeze trifling, and the temperature a perfect 70 degrees. The robins were singing like opera stars at Carnegie Hall. The maple buds were swelled to the bursting point; you could feel the leaves ache to be free. But Mother Nature wasn’t done dashing us with hostile iciness and making us weather-bound for the weekend. So on this first day of spring and DH’s birthday, the temps dropped 40 degrees and rain started turning to the fastest falling flakes I have ever seen. Not only were they rapid, but they were like tiny snowballs, exploding with a plop when they hit the ground. Now snow is beginning to accumulate with a promise of maybe seven inches at least. I have to admit that even though I am weather weary, it is a beautiful snow.
But what do you do in a March snowstorm? After months of winter, I have read and reread books until my eyes are blurry, written until my brain feels as empty as a hip flask at an Irish wake. I have cooked and eaten until nothing sounds good; the smell of onions and the sizzle of oil inspire nothing like the thoughts of a fresh tomato or strawberry eaten out of doors, juice running down the chin and splatting on a white tee shirt! The only music I long for is birdsong. I have watched movies including a yearly rewatching of Out of Africa, and hubby is ensconced in front of the Big Twelve basketball anyway. I have finished fringing the last prayer shawl, started a ponshawl, and I am weary of clacking needles. So I brew another pot of tea, find a Debbie MacComber chick lit book, and try to enjoy lounging in my robe for yet anther weekend waiting for real spring to begin.
The mail brought prizes today at least. (Wish I could count on the mailman’s visiting tomorrow on Sunday!) My Ballymaloe Cookbook arrived. At first glance it was disappointing because it lacks vibrant color which I enjoy in my cookbooks. The recipes are not something I am drawn to rush to the kitchen to do, and the personal tales that were promised don’t seem too interesting. But maybe I should read deeper before judging.
There was also a nice order of samples from the Simpson and Vail tea company. They all smelled delicious, but Blue Moon was the most unique. The catalog says this tea has a “fresh from the garden” taste that is blend of black pepper and the taste of berry. Now DH does not like spice, and he is no fan of black pepper at all, but I had to try it. So this afternoon when the risk of wakefulness from caffeine was not a real threat since we will surely be housebound for napping tomorrow as well, I brewed up this new Blue Moon. DH said it was good—but that evaluation might have been sweetened by the cookie that broke the boredom as well! The tea did have a slight peppery feel and warmed your insides nicely. Always hard for me to switch loyalty from my true favorites of Cinnamon black and Irish Breakfast, but this Blue Moon has a nice jolt of difference for just such days as this. I like the name too.
So if I am awake in to the wee hours of morning later, it will just be more time to continue enjoying this burst of Winter 2010 on the first day spring! Now where did I leave those knitting needles?