Last Saturday

It was a beautiful spring morning. Bird chirping, buds bursting, the sun finally showing up to make us all proud. The day was embarrassing in its perfection. 

I however felt dusty and dazed, perplexed on how to handle the situation. The situation being spring.

There was of course a long list of to-dos. The usual rights of spring passage.

Leftover leaves in the beds. Edging and mulching before the weeds arrived. The bushes needed a good trim. 

Then there was the garage. It was like cold weather gremlins had roamed the shelves moving hammers and extension cords. Tucking the most used items in the least likely places. 

I normally love a good clean. Organizational feats are a go-to activity for me. What’s better than tangible momentum? But five minutes into a routine examination, I had nothing. The usual surge of excitement was nowhere to be found. Just like the garden hose.

I retrieved a seat cushion from the tippy top shelf and made my way to the back deck where we’d left the furniture frames out. Not our normal routine. 

I’m pretty sure my husband and I were both hoping that winter would take the tired set-up out of commission. But there it was, not much worse for the winter wear. Looking all useful and ready. 

I sat down, squinted into the sun. 

“Now what?” I asked my faithful companion. 

Daisy yawned before circling in place and plopping down for a nap. She wasn’t changing her routine for this gorgeous day. Canine wisdom being what it was, I decided to follow her lead and went inside to retrieve my current read. A dark thriller set in the Scottish countryside. 

Only this time when I returned, I found the shade. Not a speck of sun was going to ruin the mood. 

Spring in New England was notoriously flaky. Well, two could play at that game.

This year instead of throwing open the windows and welcoming the season with the vigor of a Disney princess, I would let spring get its act together, be more consistent, before I decided when to commit. 

Reclining on the weary outdoor furniture with green grass glowing in the distance, I opened my book preparing to return to the mist on the Isle of Amberley. 

And that’s when I saw it—still attached to the side of the house. The garden hose. Apparently, we’d left that out too. 

What the actual heck. 

We’d thrown literal caution to the winter winds. Four long months of it. 

And here spring was with or without willful participation. Mother Nature doing her thing while I did mine. 

I would join in the springtime parade…. eventually.  

In the meantime, the weeds would grow, but so would the flowers. And there was a freedom in knowing that on that yet-to-be-determined day, the garden hose was ready. Without me having to do a gosh darned thing.