Oh The Long And Dreary Winter

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March view to the South from the front window.

March view to the South from the front window.

You know it’s a long winter when the conversation goes like this:

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know. What do you wanna do?”

“Go out maybe?”

“Naah, I’d have to put my boots on.”

“What’s on TV tonight? Anything good?”

“I don’t know; I can’t find the remote control.”

“What day is it?”

“I don’t know; I can’t find the newspaper.”

“I didn’t bring it in; it’s still in the mail box.”

“Are you going out to get it?”

“Not if I have to put my boots on.”

“Oh for goodness sake! I’ll go get the mail.”

“Can you fill the bird feeder while you’re out there?”

“Only if you look for the remote control.”

“I don’t feel like watching TV anyway.”

“What’s the stupid remote control doing in my boot?”

“I don’t know. You were the one watching TV last.”

“But I wouldn’t put it in my boot then, now would I?”

“How should I know why you put things where you put them.”

“Maybe we should go out tonight. I think maybe somebody’s a little grumpy from being cooped up too long.”

“Not if I have to put my boots on.”

It is March 14, in Poplar Hill, Ontario. This is not that other Poplar Hill that mistakenly shows up as my Face book location in the far north of Ontario. Rather it is the one that is found in that serendipitous place in Canada that dips southward to approximately the same latitude as Northern California. In our Poplar Hill, it is usually spring, or at least very close to spring, by now. It has been twenty years since we have had to endure being booted and bundled up by the weather for so long. There has not been the usual brief preview of spring-like weather in January or February, where we gleefully strip down to shirtsleeves and defiantly rake out the flowerbeds. There has not even been an excuse, like midwinter yard cleanup, to light a bonfire of fallen branches and sit around it with our cups of cocoa, feeling joyful at the prospect of Spring on our doorsteps. It doesn’t feel as if Spring is on our doorsteps. It doesn’t feel as if Spring even wants to return… Sometimes we are anxious that we have done something wrong, something that has changed the way things used to be. As we pore over our seed catalogues until they are pitifully dog-eared and wait, as we cook our marshmallows dolefully over the front burner of our propane range and collectively sigh, something catches our attention over the clattering of the range hood fan.

“Is that geese I hear? Is that geese?”

“I don’t know. Maybe! Open the window!”

“I can’t! It’s frozen shut!”

“Hurry! Get your boots on! Let’s go outside and see!”

“Hey! You forget to put your coat on!”

About Yvonne's Musings

Being the second of eight kids born in 11 years to my busy parents ultimately was a real advantage to me. I learned very early that if you wanted to be heard amidst all the noise the best way to accomplish it was to write your thoughts down. My first post to my mother," i hate skool. i cried at skool tooday!" was stuck with ABC chewing gum to the lid of the diaper pail, where I was certain that she would find it. Her attention quickly elicited in me a love of writing that has been life long. Seeking a wider audience I have decided to now, decades later, blog. Happy reading Mom! This is for you!

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