The first day of Spring

brought a new little niece to me, and a new little daughter to my brother Joe, and his wife Sarah. We knew for a short while that today would be the day, because my sister-in-law was going to be induced, but it was still a delight and surprise when I got the message that she came. It was also a delight and surprise when I woke up today and realized that it was officially Spring. Really, what better day to be born? What better way to begin this perfect season than with a birth? The season itself exemplifies all things life, all things hope.

I still remember a day in Utah that was an in between Winter/Spring day. It was cold outside. And I was walking to school. And there was snow on the ground. When I got to the campus and was walking up the dreaded hill (the one on the South side, near the duck pond), I saw daffodils springing forth out of that cold, hard ground. I was still. I was still because things that look dead aren't really dead, and Spring is the best time to remember that. On other blustery days I would consciously remind myself, "There is Spring. There is hope." The reminder soon became a mantra to me. Or perhaps a prayer. I would think it so often and so sincerely. It may have been the only way I made it through those short days and long nights.

I also remember other Vernal Equinoxes, when there wasn't a baby to celebrate. Just the season itself, and its accompanying promise of warmth and light. That was enough. And so we gathered together, to eat, and drink and share. There were multiple go around the circle activities, where persons present could read a poem or scripture, or perhaps pass around a picture. We would also say our favorite thing about Spring, just as we previously sat (or danced) in a circle sharing our hopes and joys of Winter. And Summer. And Fall. Sometimes during Spring Equinox we planted seeds carrying wishes written in very small hand. Other times just scraps of paper. Twice we dyed eggs naturally with onion skins (and other things). Once they came out the deepest red. Another time they looked red in the water, but came out a warm yellow.

The next year I read a little book, called "The Tree that Survived the Winter," because my year had been a very hard year. One that felt like winter.  (It is really a marvel that I survived.) Someone inevitably talked about symbolism. I probably also talked about Persian New Year. There were always candles. There was nearly always flute playing and jumping over those candles. There was always chanting. Quiet to loud, with strands of words that meant Spring to us. I don't remember them now, except "Verdant" and "Green," but there were so many. One for each person.

This year my word would be "Scarlet." And if I were given three words, they would be, "Scarlet Rose Hunt," the babe's whole name. If I were given four, I would add, "Hope," because that is what Spring signifies for me the very most. One more fact about the baby: she is just a few ounces short of 7 pounds (which I suppose is not a very complete fact, but it is the best I can do). Also, I love this picture my brother posted.

I think it is something about Scarlet's big sisters peeking in at her, with curiosity mingled with awe, mingled with hesitation. And I love these old Boston/Equinox pictures. And each person/memory associated with them.

Circa 2011 (don't let the time stamps deceive you):

Circa 2010:

Circa 2009:

 

For Winter.

Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were behind you,
like the winter that has just gone by.
For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter,
that only by wintering through it all will your heart survive. -Rilke

In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer. -Camus

When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter. -Phil

Winter Reads.

What I am reading now: Too many to say.

Special remarks: First, In Defense of Food was one of the best books I have read, ever. Second, The Writing of the Disaster is probably the most beautifully written book I have read, ever.

Things that are winter.

Boston.
Blustery days.
Cold noses.
Breathing just to see your breath.
Wind chill.
Snowmen/snow angels/snowflakes/snow days.
Boots.
Hats and scarves and sweaters.
Stockings hung by the fire with care.
Hot chocolate.
Apple cider.
Cinnamon and nutmeg.

Pine trees and pine tree smells(!)

Advent calendar.
Christmas music.
Christmas lights/Temple lights(!)
Christmas Eve.
Waking up early Christmas morning.

Giving.

Family time.
Eggnog. Silk nog.
Wassail.
Ice skating.
Sledding.
Earlier sunsets.
Earlier bedtimes.
Closed windows.
Heaters turned on.
Blankets upon blankets.
New Years Eve.
New Years Day.
Predictions/resolutions.
The day of my birth.
This scene (painted by Jess Ecker after a winter visit to Boston Common):

Bless.

Bless bolt bus, and winter break, and trips to New York City. Bless earmuffs on blustery days, and gourmet licorice on every kind of day. Bless Ellis Island, and Lady Liberty, and ferry rides that make such sights possible. Bless sunsets over Brooklyn Bridge and Grimaldi's on the other side. Bless Patsy's (which I may like slightly more than Grimaldi's). Bless starbursts and Lindor truffles. Bless Becca, and Tay, and Bronson. Bless hospitality, and welcomings, and an abode at Cathedral Parkway. Bless Cafe Lalo, and Evelyn, and Francesco who still calls me Precious. Bless T. Time.