Cold and Quiet

I couldn’t get warm today, no matter how I tried. I increased my usual three layers to five, added a fuzzy blanket and a beanie hat, even resorted to alcohol, which usually gets me flushed. None of it worked. My bones felt colder today than they did through most of January. The vernal chill, rain, wind and damp: sad rewards for surviving winter—and 30 days of lock-down. Though this spring is the worst in memory, I’ve decided I don’t like spring in general. I always expect more from it than I ought to.

The magnolia tree in my front yard was gorgeous and the pride of the neighborhood—people kept stopping to take pictures of it on their walks—a firework of pink blossoms--for five days. After yesterday’s rain, it has turned slimy and brown and slicks my driveway with treacherous muck.

Over the past weeks, I’ve gone on a baking/sugar bender like everybody else, but I make unsophisticated things that take no time and no skill: Rice Krispie Treats, 7-layer bars, 3-ingredient peanut butter cookies. My husband is burning through Girl Scout Tagalongs while I’ve eaten my share of Mallomars. This kind of behavior too is more winter-like than spring-like. So was spending the weekend curled up on the couch watching movies. (Zach picked Knives Out. I picked Parasite. My husband picked a strange French animated film about a severed hand trying to get back to its owner. It was surprisingly not bad. )

I’ve had nothing much to say for the past few days. My whole family has gone into a kind of “blessed silence”. I didn’t even need to make the sticker; I just needed to be patient. We’ve run out of words well before we’ve run out of toilet paper. We’re communicating solely with shrugs and eyebrow waggles now.

Here’s hoping for warmer, happier days.