Martin spent blissful hours in the front beds planting tons of sugarsnap peas; then this morning we had a rain and now the sun is out again. I think the peas are terribly giddy.
This morning we were grumpy in the grey, late to drop Elspea at preschool and Martin and I were stressed and alternately snappy and apologetic. I listened to a Polish pianist talking about Chopin as I drove to Giant Eagle, where I strapped Bea into a filthy car and we went gliding around the aisles. In the tea aisle "God Bless USA" played over the speakers and then in the ice-cream aisle, Paul Simon's Graceland came on, which was sadly interrupted for a banal announcement about Giant Eagle caring about the safety of children. . .and then we trundled off to the check-out where the woman weighed my sherbet and ice cream just out of curiosity to see which was heavier--"I knew it," she said. "I just thought the sherbet weighed more!"
Then home we drove in the blue Subaru across the railroad tracks; we sat in the driveway listening to Bach and staring at clearing skies as the ice-cream melted in the back of the car. . . .
And it's all sun again and I remember that winter is truly ending, that a gray morning does not mean an inevitable slip into a week of melancholy, and the peas are stirring and the crocus on fire and the lilacs about to open a thousand purple eyes. . .and I am about to be late again for Elspea. One should not have to be on time in spring; it is against the spirit of the season, and for that matter against the spirit of every season.
