Seasons come and seasons go. Winter gutted me in the worst way. The last week has been spring (barefeet, freshfaced) and the most noticeable change besides the absence of snow is that I'm writing again. In the morning. In the evening. I sliced through soft asparagus and had a thought like an earworm intent on burrowing into my skull. The idea wouldn't go away until I tapped a note into my iPhone. We walked around a suburb of Minneapolis yesterday (uncomfortable in our jeans because of the heat, I might add) and I filled pages in the streets. My dad pointed out an apartment building where my pre-marriage, pre-kids mother lived (your parents having lives outside of your own is a strange thought), and I scribbled a note. I attempted to write while walking, but stopped mid-sidewalk to avoid running into little kids finished with soccer practice, or the camera crew filming for the news outside of Sebastian Joes.
Not only am I becoming home with writing again, but I'm making photos. It's exhilarating. I had a terrible fear this winter that any iota of passion or talent I had towards taking images was an illusion. More accurately, that I had pulled off a feat and fooled myself these past years. Instead of being diligent and focused, I burrowed under blankets and became a hermit. I watched the entire series of How I Met Your Mother, baked sweet things, and didn't pick up my camera for weeks. We had over one hundred days of negative temperatures this winter and my mental state reflected the frostiness of my physical home.
I decided that upon graduating, I am going to pack up and move somewhere warm. Permanently. I'd prefer a state without winters straight from The Snow Queen, thank you very kindly. I don't want to jinx the temperatures and be attacked with a last-ditch blizzard, but thankfully, we're at the last leg of this season. Spring is here. The snow is almost all melted. We're exclusively wearing shorts and foregoing sweaters, even if it means shivering under the wide sun. My legs are white and my arms covered in goosebumps but fifty, sixty degrees feels like heaven. The camera isn't quite as unwieldy in my hands as I thought. I don't need an excuse to write, nor an explanation.
At the library on Tuesday, I hurried straight to the anthology, biography, and memoir section, tucked right next to popular magazines and manga comic books. I walked away with five pieces I'd been waiting to read, and I've started all but two of them. This made me think. Just as some people never re-read books and others continually return to their favorite pages (I'm fortunate to be with the latter group), some people start one book and finish it before beginning another. Others are messy, scattered, and decide to juggle three or so at once. Again, I find I'm part of the latter. At the moment, I'm reading through On Writing by Stephen King (I laughed and cried reading the beginning this morning, both acts surprising me with their suddenness), Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl (who I was first introduced to by Food Network), and The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (a book thought-provoking and painfully honest).
My sister and I made pasta for dinner. We argued about something stupid and seconds later stood mincing garlic and boiling asparagus side by side. I salted the asparagus water and poured peas into the green tinted pot. She separated garlic cloves and chopped onions. In the fridge, next to the chai tea, sat a pound and a half of mushrooms from Trader Joes. "Too bad mom doesn't have any wine to sauté the mushrooms in," Chloe said. We pan fried chicken with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper, and put together our first summer supper. Due to an unfortunately long winter, Minnesota tends to skip spring and collapse into summer, but I'm not complaining.
(here's the recipe we used if you're interested. The entire Martin clan highly recommends it, except for Samuel who dislikes peas, mushrooms, and parmesan cheese).
All of this is remarkably simple. Painfully disjointed. Boringly honest? Perhaps. But here's what I'm thinking about: Peach light. Singing over piano keys. The green of asparagus in boiling water. Eli humming as he eats dinner. Wind on my skin. Gifts. I'm making and moving again and I'm sore from stretching, but it's a good feeling. Spring, I will keep you (please stay).
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