Last night I went to bed feeling kind of glum. My joints ached, the day had been flat and unproductive, and I was tired, tired of winter. I vowed to start the next day with a better attitude, to lean into the many tasks I had planned, and to take pleasure in them.
When I woke up, I kept my promise to myself. Full of morning bustle, I made oatmeal, cranberry, and roasted walnut muffins—some for Clif and me and some to give to Pearl and George.
I delivered the muffins late morning. The sky was blue, and it was nearly thirty degrees, with no wind. I had brought my little camera with me, and what should I see at Pearl’s house, but turkeys by her bird feeder. Had I learned my lesson from a couple days ago? I had not. I took pictures of the turkeys, but as I moved a little closer, these turkeys flew away, the way wild birds normally do.
On my way home, I stopped by Maranacook Lake, wanting to take pictures of the ice village that springs up every winter—fishing shacks that don’t come in until the spring thaw makes the ice unsafe. As I took pictures, the sun warmed my face, and I needed neither hat nor gloves to keep me warm.
Revitalized, I did more errands, stopping to take pictures of the ducks on Annabessacook Lake. By the time I came home, all glum thoughts had been cast aside, and it felt like a tra-la-la kind of day.
I even started thinking that soon I would be able to hang laundry outside.
Well, all right. Maybe not in the next few days. But in a month or so, if the mud isn’t too bad in the backyard. I can start by hanging blankets and comforters on the line.
When that day comes, you’ll liable to find me rising like Mary Poppins over the rooftops of Winthrop.