Sigh. I’m recovering, finally, from the third incarnation of this cold. Really truly hoping this will be the end of it – it’s going on 5 or 6 weeks now that I’ve been sick, on and off. It’s like another job, tending to a virus – it just sucks away the time that I’d like to spend doing productive or fun stuff into nose-blowing, coughing, and whingeing. Especially the latter.
However, my energy is returning slightly, the snow is turning to slush and we are moving into the brown season here. We don’t really get spring on the prairies – at least not the way it is in many parts of the world, with sunshine and flowers and buds unfurling and the energy of new life fairly bursting out of each green sprout pushing through the earth. No, spring here is like a grumpy teenager getting out of bed at two in the afternoon – all bad hair and worse breath – with the wind and the white sky and the bare branches whipping around above the melting piles of snow and slush, revealing a whole winter’s worth of dog shit and rotting piles of leaves that never got composted before the first big dump of snow back in October. And like said teenager, spring tends to make a few attempts at getting up before doing so successfully – despite the fact that I can see the edges of my lawn, there is a blizzard warning today, and I don’t remember a year when we didn’t have at least one snow in May.
But like spring, I am beginning to emerge here. And I will keep trying again and again, starting over whenever I need to, getting back to what needs to be done and to what beckons me in a more joyful way – a knitting project for my first niece, who is not yet born but whose arrival on the outside is imminent; a birthday cake for my grandad; the planning of the front yard garden I hope to establish this year.
Beginning again is such a comfort, such freedom. I can so easily get overwhelmed, feel like I am falling behind and not measuring up. But the way forward is perfectly clear – all I can do is just start over…and start over…and start over…