And So We Shall

March 4th, the only day of the year which is also a command. And so we shall.

Flew into Newark airport late last night and was blessed with a gentle flight and nearly unnoticed landing. Had left Seattle at 4pm, flown through clouds piled like icebergs, passed close by Mount Rainier and on over frozen America where night was swiftly falling. The plane was only half full, what a rarity. I was served a delicious turkey hotdog with a packet of yellow mustard and some baby carrots and then tried to take a nap but kept bumping my head against the window and straining my neck so I gave up and read The Stranger and the New Yorker, keeping current with events in Seattle and New York City, none of which I plan to attend any time soon. Voyeurism I suppose. Let’s see what other people are doing while I float 35, 000 feet above the planet.

For two weeks I was fully engaged in nonstop living, my time in the Pacific Northwest divided between visits at the nursing home where my father resides now, appointments with my own doctors, and playing with my niece and nephew who are so new to the world, along with my friend’s children who range in age from 1 to 7.

I did not stop to do any writing, though I was sorry not to. I did not sleep either. I neglected to write letters, to write in my journal or on the blog, and my only word output consisted in scattered posts to facebook about what fun the babies were being as they sprawled on top of me eating apples while I read The Three Little Pigs. The youngest child running into any room singing, “I see you.” His three year old sister twirling and dancing through multiple costume changes as she shed dresses around the house, spinning a happy dervish, tippy toes, tippy toes. The one and a half year old nephew grabbing me by the finger insistently saying, “Nuhm Awn” (his version of “Come On”) as he leads me to the playroom for more games with trains.

Seattle and Bellingham had so little winter that they were deep in blooming Spring. The streets were lined with pink trees. The earth was abundant with the landmines of bulbs: crocus, hyacinth, anemone, daffodil, and soon soon the tulips.

In NJ we have a flurry of squirrels. Mounds of dirty snow. Snow which hasn’t given up the ghost. But the ducks paddle on an ice free pond. Shaka Zulu the kitten piñata comes to the garden and lies down for a nap in the oak leaves.

Any day I do not write feels a little lost to me.
Here I am. I am back.