Donna Karan purse the Bay.
Me in the March snowstorm of 1971. (I have one childhood memory of a May snowfall. I was walking to Queen Mary Road on Coolbrook and the ONE house that ever had flowers had red tulips in a bed in front, and on this snowy morn a 3 inch blanket of white snow covered the ruler-straight row of ruby blooms. Very pretty - and different.)
My father had a number of eccentricities, but one of them was a belief that each mouthful of food had to be chewed 40 times.
He also had dentures, imperfectly melded to his mouth, which made the simple exercise of eating all the more difficult.
This wouldn't have been so bad, for me, except we lived in the suburbs and my father and his green Chevy Belair was my only mode of transportation (my mother for some reason never drove me anywhere).
So if I wanted to go see a friend on the weekend, I needed him to take me there, and this was usually after lunch, but my father's lunches took HOURS as he obstinately sat leaning over his plate of corned beef sandwiches while seated in front of the 24 inch black and white TV and watched Homer Jones of the New York Giants run for a touchdown or Arnold Palmer suavely chip his way out of a sand trap.
And if I stood around looking antsy, he'd glare at me and say "Don't push me"
My father hadn't heard of the child-centered universe.
He was born of Britishers and he,himself, spent his childhood in private schools. His own father had been an Edwardian tyrant, locking him in dark cupboards when he was 'bad'.
I think of this today, because it is snowing. Snowing on April 12th. Not entirely usual except that we Quebeckers have been spoiled the last few years. Indeed, last year the asparagus was coming up in the farmers' fields about this time. The entire summer was Greek Style Deliriously Perfect.
Today, it feels to me like 1969 all over again.
I'm super-antsy. And I'm doing the worse thing possible!
I've been looking at the long term weather report, the 14 day one, only to see that Montreal is going to have a below average rest of April, except for next Thursday that promises to be sunny and 19. (That will probably change. These last two months all the good predictions changed.)
I'm waiting for Spring. That's nothing new. My moods are totally attuned to Mother Nature.
But (as my husband daily points out) I should stay away from the Weather Channel. Play Mamma Mia, maybe on the telly. (Or paint Matisse images on the windows... which I started a few days ago.. But I can see the dirty snow through said window...)
Or go out to the shops and buy that brand new (rather pricey) orange and pink purse to cheer me up. (Orange and Pink is 'IN' this season. I've waited soooo long.)
I'm master of my domain these days. I can do what I want. Whenever I want. Right? (But I have my own inner curmudgeon who insists the purse is too expensive.)
It seems that only Mother Nature can give me permission to breath again, after this awful long dull winter. To Rite of Spring it.
Snow on April 12 What is this? Why?