Frigid--or--My Life in Winter

If that witch's tit
inside the icy brass bra
means cold, I'm colder.

The outside temps dropped
plummeting down to zero
The air feels frozen.

Car tops and windows
bridges, canals, streets, bike spokes
Ev'rything frosted.

So, madly I search
through cupboards and storage spots-
I MUST FIND THERMALS!

The Discovery of Something New

First Narcis in the Garden Wednesday

Just When You Least Expect It

In the early afternoon on Sunday, Don and I made our weekly excursion to the neighborhood grocery store. The Albert Heijn to be exact, which incidentally has, as you can see, the initials A and H. Pronounce those letters in Dutch and you have Ah and Hah. Run them together (C'mon say it with me now) and you have Ah-Hah!

That's what we call it around here, and I am thinking that the directors of this major grocery chain here in Holland should contact me to become part of the advertising team. Just think of the potential with a catch phrase like Ah-hah! Seriously, you could have a heyday with Ah-hah! I can just see it now.

These are the things I think about.

Somebody stop me.

So. Don and I went to the Ah-Hah, shopped for it, paid for it, loaded it up, slung it over our backs and schlepped it home. As we stepped into the garden Don made a comment along the lines that it might be time to pull the dead and decaying plants from the planter box. (insinuating perhaps that I embrace the notion that winter is actually here and the flowers just ain't gonna bloom no more) I concured. (and accepted the whole projected message as correct) Before I stepped in the front door with my grocery bags, I began to systematically pull the begonia plants out by the roots. No sooner did I start than I made an astounding discovery. The tulip and narcis bulbs which have lain dormant beneath the dirt for these many months have decided that now seems like a good time to send up shoots. Little sprouts of bright green peeking up from the surface of the soil beginning to look for the sunshine. Seems early by a long shot this year, but I have to admit to the surge of absolute joy at seeing the sight. Bright, determined, hopeful signs of the next season are already peeking through the dark days of winter.

My heart is singing just a little.

It sounds just like this:

More music at SMID's place

The Best Thing About Winter

Citrus.

Puckering up with me today:

Wholly Burble

Flower Child

Jen in MI

Mariposa

Cablegirl (first time!)

Jenn

Jan

It's That Time of Year

Warm soup Wednesday

And What Will Poor Robin Do Then?

We're under the weather around here. And by saying that, I mean there is a severe weather warning for The Netherlands tonight. The winds are supposed to be fierce (fiercer than normal--which is really saying something) and the rain is already pouring. We haven't seen the sun in days, but that's not news for folks in the low lands. The sun doesn't hang out much in Holland, at least not in the winter. There is only one weather here during the winter months and that is, oh, how can I say it best?

Yucky.

We have a friend who has a not so endearing term for Holland's weather. I can't share it with you here because, well, it contains some not so very nice words. Don't get me wrong now, I can say these words, I can even write these words, I am just a bit uncomfortable writing them down in this post. (My mother in law reads my blog after all!) But the three word adjective-noun-verb phrase (rhymes with bitty-bit-buck) completely cracks me up every time I hear it. And then I cry a little because it's completely, totally true.

The winter weather here sucks.

This morning as Andrew and I saddled the bike to ride into the school--he to class and me to work--we had a discussion about the weather.

"Oh, no, it's windy!" he said.

I responded. "It's not windy this morning baby, it's just fine."

"Yes!" He said and stamped his foot for emphasis. "I see a wind."

I looked to the sky and then said again. "No, babe, there's no wind, we're going to be okay."

"I see a wind" he insisted, pointing at the last remaining leaves on the oak in the front garden. "There is a wind." he said. "Look!"

I looked and I could see his point. There was a light breeze gently shaking the last leaf on the branch.

I tried in vain to add the new vocabulary word breeze to his repertoire, but he was having none of it.

"That's a wind. I told you Mom. I see a wind."

Throughout the day this storm has rolled in at a relentless pace. And, tonight with the wind whipping in earnest outside--howling through the door jambs and forcing tree branches to scrape along the balcony ledges and the windows--I am confident that I will soon have a bed partner in the form of a four-year old boy. I am also certain that he will remind me once again,

"I told you Mom. I told you I saw a wind."

Simultaneous Seasons

Wet Weather Gear