Well, it’s Spring… or so they tell us. A year ago right now it was in the high 80s and I was teaching my newborn to like Roxette. Today, I’m wearing a scarf in the house and she’s napping in a hat with ear flaps. Oh well.
Still we soldier on. After the magnanimous festivities of last weekend – which was all about Iris’ first birthday and Saint Patrick’s Day, and lasted until Wednesday – I’m ready for a regular workday, a detox diet and a weekend where all I have to do is put away onsies and steam a sweet potato.
My mind has returned to work, which is an interesting landscape of familiarity, potential opportunities and interesting new projects. As a freelance writer, I don’t always know what’s going to slop onto my plate from week to week. Yet I maintain an innate sense (which I’ve always had) of when tides are turning and routines are changing. This feels like one of those times. Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s the refreshing assignments I’ve nabbed lately. Whatever it is, something is in the air, and it feels like it might be a good thing.
How appropriate, no? I’ve always thought Spring was a time of anticipation and excitement. I mean, the trees are budding and we can start to see the grass. Once the birds come back, I’m joyously giving Winter the finger as it slinks back into its hole. What better time to turn over, or at least peek under, some new leaves?