Friday, February 13, 2009
One of the hard things about New England winters is the bone dry air. Inside, outside, everywhere. Were are constantly drinking water and slathering Weleda cream on our skin in an effort to not dry out so much that we crumble into pieces.
We also escape to places with more humidity - namely greenhouses (no Caribbean vacations for us alas). In case you can't read the above sentence without the benefit of spaces between the words, it says:
"Mimi is a star and likes to go to the butterfly place"
She can't spell yet, but she likes to ask "how do you spell 'is' mama" and then write (or in this case, string) the letters.
The butterfly place is one of the tropical locals that we visit when it just gets too dry and too cold. The air is moist and warm, there are butterflies and flowers and a small pond. You can sit on a bench, close your eyes and be in summer for a few minutes.
We've had a couple of those hope-filled days this week where the temperature soars to a balmy 48 degrees. Folks around here can sometimes be seen wearing flip-flops on such days. We New Englanders are a special breed... We know there might even be a few more inches of snow in our future, but these days remind us that "yes, spring is coming, and it will feel lovely just like today". Those are the days that I start picnic blanket plans and Miryam and I snuggle before bed and talk about what we'll bring. And speak of frisbees and camp outs and smores and sandals and canoes and fall asleep dreaming of barefeet in deep grass.
Posted by Gillian at 4:46 AM