Home Again, Home Again*

I hear the mourning dove out there, and I know why he's mourning. It's 22 degrees! On this third day of Spring, it's 22 degrees. (NOTE: I have been corrected. It was 22 degrees early morning, but dropped to 19 by the time I first posted this blog. I do want to be accurate.)

Sun is shining, just to fool us, I think, because you can go out there and stand in the sunshine and freeze your little self.

Just home from Pennsylvania, I expected warmer weather here. But no. Just about the same as it was there, only colder. In that state I heard the same moaning and griping as I hear--and do--in Boise. "Enough, already, with this winter." Or "I'm sick of this. Will it never end?" I heard the weather report this morning, and the guy said, "This time of year, it's hard to get a whole week of nice weather." Oh, really.

So be it. I guess I'll be wearing a scarf again and a warm coat to go to the Philharmonic tonight. At least yesterday's wind has gone somewhere else. Of course, it could come back in a flash. That's the nature of wind.

Just so you know, I have a gorgeous little granddaughter, Willamina May Darrington, born March 14, the day I arrived in Pennsylvania. Timely and considerate, I say, because it gave me a whole week to know her and visit with her no-longer-pregnant mother.

You know, it's always good to be home again, but I miss her, little Mina May. I told her mom that when you hold a baby and look at her you get to thinking she belongs to you. And she does, of course, in the grand picture, but I mean it feels like she's really yours. She looks like one of yours, feels familiar. It's quite a lovely thing. Then you have to leave and know she won't remember you and you'll never forget her.

Do I have pictures? you ask. Only 117, 85 on my phone, the rest on my camera. 

Yes, of course, I also love and miss her three big brothers and her mom and dad. Just a fine family. Thanks to Charlie for giving me his bed, to John for reading his book--I Broke My Trunk--to me, to Edmund for his thought-provoking and often stunning remarks, for snuggling up and playing borley, borley with me. Thanks to Ann and Jeremy for their conscientious good lives, for the pleasant atmosphere of their home.

+     +     +

* from the little rhyme my mother taught me. Do you know it? Well here's what I remember.
To market, to market, to buy a fat pig.
Home again, home again jiggity jig.
To market, to market to buy a fat hog.
Home again, home again, jiggity jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun.
Home again, home again, marketing's done.

+     +     +

P.S. The wind came back.