Opening Day
It's opening day for the regular baseball season. Yankees play their first regular season game in Toronto tomorrow afternoon. Dad came into the kitchen early this afternoon as Mom and I watched cooking shows on PBS and cheered the start of the baseball season, arms raised to the ceiling, wide grin breaking up the calico red-brown-white of his beard. I looked out the window at the still-bare tree tops scraping the grey sky and reminded him the first Yankees game wasn't until tomorrow. He nodded his head and said that's good enough.
As of Friday, there was not a square inch of snow left anywhere in our yard. There is a layer of dead, light brown grass lying over the spring grass, except where I hadn't managed to pick up the leaves in a corner of the back yard before the snow started in December. There some bacteria apparently grew under the leaves and ate up the dead grass, facilitating the decomposition and leaving bright green patches in the sad and tired taupe. Mom and I discussed yesterday morning what our strategy might be to get rid of the thatch over the rest of the yard. I spent some time after cleaning up the rotting, soaking wet leaves, silver with slime, bacteria and mold, but had to quit after three bags because of the rain. I'd been planning to finish the job today and tomorrow, depending on whether the weather allowed.
Except last night we got a confirmation from the news: four to six inches of snow were expected in our area of the capital region. Ten plus in higher elevations. Snow. It's Opening Day and we're getting snow. And not just a little bit of snow, a tiny bit of frosting to remind us this is March, the liony, ill-tempered month. Inches, up to half a foot. The snow is falling hard outside and much has accumulated in a relatively short period of time. Views to the distance are blurred and faded through the thickly-falling snow.
"Falling hard" is a strange way to describe snowfall, though anyone who has seen serious snowfall knows what I'm talking about. There's a lot coming down very quickly, but it's still drifting beatifically as snow always does. Even though I'm disappointed in this bump in the road to spring (which I've actually been very much looking forward to this year), I can't help but look outside and think, "How lovely." Even Mom, who has blamed this winter's heavy snowfall on my arrival and has expressed extreme frustration with that white stuff on her yard and her hedges, admitted quietly, without prompting, that the snowfall is beautiful and calming.
I had put up the American and Yankees flags in the backyard the Monday before last, as the breeze that morning was brisk, the sun was shining, and the sky was early-spring blue and it seemed like a perfect day for flags to wave. When it snows or rains very hard, we usually take the flags down for some reason or tradition with which I'm not familiar. However, all three of us had very late nights last night and were too tired to put on shoes and coats this morning and head outside to take down the flags. So the American flag is flapping in the snowy wind, the red and blue bright against the vague white of the falling, drifting snow, the white stripes and stars somehow made whiter in constrast to the blurred world around it. I rather like it.
As of Friday, there was not a square inch of snow left anywhere in our yard. There is a layer of dead, light brown grass lying over the spring grass, except where I hadn't managed to pick up the leaves in a corner of the back yard before the snow started in December. There some bacteria apparently grew under the leaves and ate up the dead grass, facilitating the decomposition and leaving bright green patches in the sad and tired taupe. Mom and I discussed yesterday morning what our strategy might be to get rid of the thatch over the rest of the yard. I spent some time after cleaning up the rotting, soaking wet leaves, silver with slime, bacteria and mold, but had to quit after three bags because of the rain. I'd been planning to finish the job today and tomorrow, depending on whether the weather allowed.
Except last night we got a confirmation from the news: four to six inches of snow were expected in our area of the capital region. Ten plus in higher elevations. Snow. It's Opening Day and we're getting snow. And not just a little bit of snow, a tiny bit of frosting to remind us this is March, the liony, ill-tempered month. Inches, up to half a foot. The snow is falling hard outside and much has accumulated in a relatively short period of time. Views to the distance are blurred and faded through the thickly-falling snow.
"Falling hard" is a strange way to describe snowfall, though anyone who has seen serious snowfall knows what I'm talking about. There's a lot coming down very quickly, but it's still drifting beatifically as snow always does. Even though I'm disappointed in this bump in the road to spring (which I've actually been very much looking forward to this year), I can't help but look outside and think, "How lovely." Even Mom, who has blamed this winter's heavy snowfall on my arrival and has expressed extreme frustration with that white stuff on her yard and her hedges, admitted quietly, without prompting, that the snowfall is beautiful and calming.
I had put up the American and Yankees flags in the backyard the Monday before last, as the breeze that morning was brisk, the sun was shining, and the sky was early-spring blue and it seemed like a perfect day for flags to wave. When it snows or rains very hard, we usually take the flags down for some reason or tradition with which I'm not familiar. However, all three of us had very late nights last night and were too tired to put on shoes and coats this morning and head outside to take down the flags. So the American flag is flapping in the snowy wind, the red and blue bright against the vague white of the falling, drifting snow, the white stripes and stars somehow made whiter in constrast to the blurred world around it. I rather like it.
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