Blooms and Trash

Wow, I had forgotten just how many days have passed since my last entry. Nothing's wrong, but I have had a busy quarter at school, so I my reading has been rather limited. Soon, I will have another book review, but in the mean time, I will share one of my activities. 

Since I know that good health requires exercise, I have been going outside in our early spring weather. The daffodils are blooming nicely, and the vinca has never looked better. Our three Bradford pear trees are about to make a wonderful showing, as is the tulip tree. But, after the winter, I always end up with some chores, such as cutting back the junipers and crepe myrtles, picking up sticks, and in front of our house, picking up the trash. Yes, trash. I have the misfortune of living on a main road (didn't used to be) and folks do litter.

I've picked up many "scratch off" lottery tickets, but I kinda hate to complain, since Georgia's lottery funds the vast majority of technical school student tuition. Complaining about those would be rather like biting the hand that feeds, and I have better sense. Wadded up wrappers from Mickey D's are usually in the trash bag as well. Makes me wonder what is it about Mickey D's customer base that makes them trashier than the rest of the fast food nation. As usual, I found a couple of styrofoam cups clinging to the weeds near the woods. There are usually some receipts, flyers, and an occasional home burned CD. Actually, it is interesting, because I read the trash. I read everything, and my students are usually amazed that I read every word of their papers.

My favorite bit of recent trash was a pharmacy bag from a nearby Kroger. One of my fellow Jeffersonians, whom I do know slightly, tossed away his Cialis paperwork. He's probably in his sixties now, so I guess he needs a little help. Well, I hope he and the lady of his choosing had a nice weekend.

Mama's Favorite Season

All of my life, I have enjoyed spring, but I've never loved it the way Mama did. Perhaps it was growing up on a farm, watching crops go in, as well as watching nature wake up from winter hibernation. Maybe it was that she did not have allergies, not the way hubby and I do. Mama was not much of gardener, not until her empty nest years, which were cut short by cancer. She did have beautiful azaleas, planted in a circle around an oak tree that was over a hundred years old, and the driveway was defined by huge clumps of jonquils and thrift. In other spots, she had planted various roses, with hydrangeas and other staples of southern flower gardens.

The road where I live now was once one of the prettiest in our small southern town. Some of the woods have given way to mini-mansions on half acre lots, surrounded by some uber-ugly fencing, and other folks have pulled up older plants which no doubt suffered in recent droughts. Still there are enough dogwoods and azaleas to remind me that spring is a beautiful time of year.

Easter moves about the calendar according to some arcane rules that few people bother to learn. I do have clear memories of Mama teaching me about the legend associated with the unique dogwood blossom. Daddy always cut the grass the day before Easter, whether it needed it or not, just to "make it easier to find those eggs." Mama and Daddy made finding the eggs a simple, fun-filled event. However, if we had an egg hunt at the Dodd's, my older male cousins put eggs in all sorts of weird places, including the forks of high trees. Only the brave got all the eggs in Nanny Dodd's backyard.

One of my favorite photographs of Mama was made on her last Easter, bending her six-foot frame over to guide my daughter, not quite two years old, to find eggs, poorly hidden among those flowers in her front yard.

Ah, yes, spring has come to Georgia, with thunder, lightning, hail, and a river of yellow pollen running down the driveway. My neighbor has a glorious row of multicolored azaleas lining her driveway, and I have a large, native dogwood in bloom. Once again, it is mama's favorite season, and I love to take in all the natural beauty. Hubby, give me another Claratin, because I just can't stay inside.