Spring

I am one of the lucky ones. Four day weekend. We throw off the jackets and ride our bikes, no destination, just the pleasure of feeling sunshine on arms, legs, necks, the pleasure of warm wind, of sweat. We indulge in naps in the afternoon and leave the dishes in the sink for another day. In the evening – games with friends. Wizard. Balderdash. Taboo. Someone writes something so absurd during a game of Balderdash that we all laugh so long and so hard our cheeks ache.
Flowers. I will soon have red bunches, like fireworks, bursting in colour on my windowsill. I am surprised at how happy the thought makes me. Even more so, the realization that I've had the plant for over a year, that it thrives and lives and that I took care of it.

On Saturday we climb, shop, and spend the evening with friends. Fondu – cheese and chocolate! Oh the sinfulness, the decadence, the calories, the laughs. Like children we delight in dying some eggs. I dip mine in a vibrant blue and suddenly remember Kiev. Years ago. Brown, onion skin dyed eggs surround a fresh pass-ha, a kind of sweet raisin bread. My grandmother brews me some strong, lose lief black tea, and I eat my egg, watching the dusk settle on the city outside the large bay window of our communal kitchen.

On Sunday I spend the day on my own. Remembering the freedom it offers, I explore the city, have dinner in my favourite place, eat ice cream and lazily pick a recipe to try for dinner. This time, some deconstructed sushi from Super Natural Cooking by Heidi Swanson.

Our first really warm day since October of last year. Winter, what passed for winter this year, seems to be on the way out. I can't be happier. I am reunited with my bicycle.

It seemed urgent that we enjoy the sunshine, that we spent the day outside, on the move. It was equally imperative that I complete an assignment for school so between those two very urgent needs there was no crafting, gardening, or cooking this weekend.

We did however pick and purchase the fabrics for the the sad black chair, and soon to be couch pillows. My mother's sewing machine is finally here and I will be venturing in the world of sewing on my own, with no previous experience and very little guidance.


We let the cat out for a bit. She is still skittish, afraid of the sounds. I sat with her in a sunny patch of the deck finishing up the Carl Sagan book I got Michael for his birthday. The book is wonderful, it made me feel quite overwhelmed with my own brief burst of life. I needed to feel like I was doing something with this tiny moment I get in such a very big universe.

The owl sweater is on hold, as I am knitting some gloves/mittens for a coworker. The timing is poor and I have taken to long to get to it, but at least she will have them for next winter.

Tonight, I feel happy. Michael leaves for an overnight shift and tells me that my face is flushed, my cheeks are red. I feel sleepy, like I spent the day at the beach. I'm ready to curl up with a new book, to have some tea, and get a good nights rest.