Springing!

We "spring forward" this weekend to daylight savings time -- an hour later. Always throws off my body clock for about a week, but I confess I like having it stay lighter longer.

And reluctantly I'm admitting it is spring. Our harbinger tree -- the one that pops its leaves earlier than the others -- has been out for several days. Our neighbors' daffodils are dotting their driveway with their cheery yellow heads. We have hummers at the feeders -- although I've actually kept the feeders full all winter too. The deer are fat and happy.

And thanks to a month of rain, we have about 76% of what we need, according to the weatherman. I'd love to see more of it though, even into May and early June.

We're planning to tackle weed abatement this weekend. We bought a large sprayer and will RoundUp the heck out of the weeds that are EVERYWHERE all of a sudden. It's been too windy or rainy to do so earlier.

And I'm also beginning to think about what to plant in the garden this year. I'd like to get out spinach, lettuce, and sugar snap peas in the next few weeks, and then think about what else to plant.

And then there is landscaping to be done with the front area, buoyed up by a lovely new retaining wall now, but liberally sprinkled with rocks and weeds already. A trip to the garden center is in order to find plants that are drought-resistant and also deer-resistant.

Everything inside looks a mess to me too, and I'm wanting to clean cupboards, sort through stacks of papers, dust, clean, toss. Minimize. That's spring's clarion call to renew, reuse, recycle!

But I confess I enjoy having woodstove fires in the evenings when it cools way down, and watching movies in the snug warmth of our great room.

Spring's arrived, no matter the calendar. It's a good time to evaluate what to keep, what to toss -- both externally and internally.

My heart beats to the ocean

The best part about going to San Francisco -- aside, of course, from seeing Julie and being able to hug her and laugh and talk -- was wading in the beautiful, beautiful ocean at Ocean Beach.

That was our evensong -- the planned one to Grace Cathedral got scrapped when we realized it was already 2:30 (it started at 3) and we had just gotten our food in a restaurant in Ghirardelli Square. It wasn't going to happen.

So we enjoyed lunch, walked along the wharf with all the other tourists, and then took a drive out to the ocean and got our feet wet.

The ocean is always a spiritual experience for me. I threw my arms up to the sun, tilted my head back, and said hello...I've missed you...thank you for your constancy. And then I dipped my feet into those cold, cold waters, let the foamy surf roll between my toes and soak my pants legs, and played a little tag with the waves. I breathed deeply of that salt air, the moist ocean smell, to etch it again into memory so that in the hot, dry days of summer here I can remember it. The gulls swooped and soared, the water sang sweetly to the steady beat of the ocean's heart, and my senses and my heart were full.

It was a long drive home, although traffic was very cooperative. It was a quick trip, too -- up on Saturday, back on Sunday. I was tired, physically and emotionally, and very ready to get wrapped up in Tony's arms and settle into bed. It's a fun place to visit, and I'm glad I don't live there anymore, although I'd love to be a little closer to the ocean than several hours' drive.

Nonetheless, we live in a beautiful place and I'm grateful even for the red dirt and rocks. The garden is loving the heat and water, and we've enjoyed and shared lettuce and radishes so far, and everything else looks healthy and promising. I still can't believe we're in summer -- oh, I know what the calendar says, but triple digits are forecast for next week, so it's definitely summer. But in five months it will be cool and rainy again, or nearly. Everything changes.

Life is uncertain, and can change direction in a moment. I am so grateful for where I am and who I am, and for my husband. Ten years ago I knew I had to change, and I found new directions. I am so blessed with the results! Courage. Belief. Action. Putting one foot in front of the other, and walking the path that lies ahead of you is what it takes. May you find your own true self on your path too!

April's hopes

April is such a month of rebirth, of "new" everything, of promise. Spring, though officially beginning in March, takes full hold in April and the universe brings the earth back to life. Grass greens and grows, daffodils and tulips and hyacinths spear up from moist dirt into flower, limbs unfurl tiny bright green leaves that will, in summer's oven, turn nearly blue.

Easter is often in April -- such a symbol of hope and rebirth rising from death and despair. And Passover seders recall deliverance from bondage and slavery into freedom.

Already in my newly planted garden are the tiniest of leaves poking up from the dirt - no, I don't remember exactly what I put there, but think it's either radishes or onions. The other furrows are still bare -- but I water them and talk to them daily, and encourage them to grow in this bountiful sunshine.

Actually, the sunshine is a little more bountiful than is good for this part of the country. The meadows are already crispy in some places, the grass is not lush and thick but rather sparse in most places and a layer of brown sits on the sunnier areas already. It may be a long, hot, dangerous summer. (Tony's said that several times. I put my hands over my ears and sing "Lalalalalala..." I want more rain. Clouds.)

It feels new again: new possibilities, new opportunities, new thoughts, second chances. New beginnings. That is April's potential and her gift to the world, I think.

So it's up to each of us to decide what needs to go to make room for the new, what we can do in our own lives to renew ourselves professionally, physically, spiritually, mentally. What is out there waiting for us? April's freshness permits clarity of insight that is obscured by the dust and pollen and impending heat of May and June and July, and by then we might as well wait for winter's cold..

I can see potential unfolding, petal by petal. I love the fresh moist smell of growth, the tang of still-chilled air in the mornings. The full moon lights pathways through the softening night. I welcome the challenge of discovery and the invitation to renew. Isn't it such a gift that we get to do this every year!

I am grateful for insight and blessing and clear thought from the new beginnings and second chances and hope that April offers. May you be blessed as well.