Patterns

I'm beginning to see a pattern. Take a look at that picture I've posted there. Yup, that's the end of a tube of sweet Bavarian mustard which I brought from Germany; you absolutely have to have that stuff to eat Weisswurst with. We've got a great German butcher here in town (No, he doesn't butcher Germans! He is German. Sheesh.) and he makes good Weisswürste. He's not Bavarian, but his Weisswurst is still quite good; definitely much better than the not-Weisswurst I'd otherwise get to eat. One Expat-Northern-German-made Weisswurst in the hand is worth two Bavarian-made ones in the bush, especially if the bush is a genuine Bavarian one, say, in Munich, and therefore a long, long ways away.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Weisswurst! No, not Weisswurst. Weisswurst mustard. More specifically, the tube it came in, which I'm really only showing you for one reason: the pattern on it. That blue-and-white diamond pattern, that spells "Bavaria". It supposedly is symbolic for the blue sky over the country with white clouds on it, although in the ten years I lived there I never did see diamond-shaped clouds. But what do I know, I was a foreigner, from not-Bavaria (after a whole decade there I was barely more than a tourist who chose to stay an extra few days). Anyway, the blue-and-white diamonds, that's the pattern that means Bavaria. Got that? Good.

Because it really hasn't got all that much to do with what I was going to talk about.

What I meant to say was that I'm beginning to see a pattern in my blog posting habits. I'm dropping off. Last year this time, in April, to be precise, I even decided to wrap up, and quit blogging for a while, because I got so slack. And here I am, approaching April, and dropping off again. It's sort of like the graphs they print on the natural gas bills, showing you how much gas you used to keep your house toasty and get your bath water nice and hot. There's always a huge spike in the winter months, and then it drops off in the summer. Now, oddly enough, it seems my blogging habits also show this drop in the spring time.

I wonder why that is. Of course, the immediate reason that springs to mind is that my blog, like my house furnace, mostly blows hot air. However, I resist that explanation (Steve doesn't think it's true; so there! I'm going to believe my bear on that).

The other and more pleasant-to-believe explanation is that with Spring Equinox, you have a couple of things coming together: the end of a long, dark winter, which takes the Oomph out of you, and the increased need to invest what little is left of said Oomph in the up-and-coming projects. The garden is starting to wake up, in spite of all the snow the weather keeps dumping on us; not only the crocuses are sending up shoots, but the spring onions and chives are rearing their spiky little heads, and poking me to remind me that I need to start thinking about seedlings. And then there's the fact that the increased daylight really shows up all those dust bunnies and cobwebs that were so easy to ignore in the romantic candlelight of the Christmas season. I'm doing my best to continue to ignore them, but the struggle is becoming harder.

No, darlings, I'm not going to quit blogging again. But judging by last year's pattern, I might just slack off for a bit. So don't hold it against me, will you? Like my seedling-growing endeavors, this blog is supposed to be fun. I don't want it to become another dust bunny in my life, staring me in the face, accusing me of neglected labour. And you don't want it to be that, either; dry dust-fluffy blog posts would probably just make you sneeze. Let's keep them fresh, green, and spring-oniony, with a lovely bite, shall we?

Life, the Universe, Weisswurst and Patterns. Until next time then!

Human Barometer

I don't even know how this works. See, this morning I woke up (too early, but at least it wasn't 3:00AM) to find it had snowed again in the night. Snow. With just a week to go to Equinox. Hello?!? So, I wasn't happy. Dragged my butt for most of the morning, in fact. Bleah, blah, blrgh. Life's too much; can't handle the work I have to do; so tired. Around noon, I had me a sandwich, dragged myself off to bed, and had a nap.

And woke after twenty minutes or so to literally bounce up, cheerful and optimistic. Why? Because the sun had come out. Bright blue sky, most of the snow melted off, and glorious light pouring in the window. Well, the kitchen window, anyway - my bedroom faces West into the mountain, it doesn't often get direct sunlight. And that's my point: I didn't even see that sunshine until I had got out of bed. I felt better just because the sun came out, even though I hadn't seen it yet.

Now, I'm sure there's something highly metaphorical in that, but that's not what I'm after. What I'm wondering is how it works. This is by no means the first time that's happened to me, that I felt gloomy to match the weather, and as soon as the sun comes out, the gloom dissipates right along with the clouds. Oh yes, I'm fully aware of the benefits of sunlight on moods - I've even got one of those bright-light lamps that help you survive the dark months here on the 50th Parallel. But with those lamps, the light has to shine on your eyes - in other words, you have to see it for it to help. To treat SAD, they recommend going for a walk outside every day, and don't you dare wear sunglasses. So how can the sun coming out during my nap, when I've got my eyes closed in a room facing away from direct sunlight, have that same effect?

I figure I must be some sort of human barometer. Don't you think that's feasible? I mean, if those air pressure systems have the power to move around massive quantities of water in the sky (incognito under the name of "clouds"), they probably have some sort of influence on all that water that's sloshing around in my veins. Even my brain, I hear, is made up of about 75% H2O. Maybe with low air pressure, it's all pushed to the sides of the skull, and those little critters that live inside my head and are supposed to make me feel happy get really thirsty. Or something. Oh, fine, call them neurotransmitters if you wish- but I think there's probably a whole lot more about the human body that we don't know than that we know, so who knows, there could be some happy-brain-critters that we just haven't found out about yet.

Oh, and I did go for a walk, outside, without sunglasses, after that nap. I couldn't resist. And you know what? The crocuses are blooming.

Life, the Universe, and Human Barometers. May your happy-brain-critters stay well hydrated.

Returning On A Jet Plane

Steve and I just got back from a week in Germany, visiting with family. Well, Steve didn't do much visiting; he mostly sat on my bed being fluffy. It's what he does best. And so here I am, sitting up at 4:00 AM, with jet lag. Did I mention I hate jet lag? No? Then I'll mention it: I hate jet lag.

Oh, but look, here's a fancy definition of it: "Jet lag, medically referred to as desynchronosis, is a physiological condition which results from alterations to the body's circadian rhythms resulting from rapid long-distance transmeridian (east–west or west–east) travel on a jet airplane. It is classified as one of the circadian rhythm sleep disorders." Desynchronosis - ooh! And circadian rhythm sleep disorder - whooee! Now I feel like Somebody, having that. I still hate being up at 4:00 AM with it, though, even if it's got a fancy name.

Steve, of course, feels no such affliction; he's snoring his woolly snores on my bedside table. Yes, stuffed-bear snores sound exactly like their non-snores (very, very quiet). Which is why they're restful people to have around. Mind you, for all I know, he's not snoring, but telling Horatio all about his adventures in the Old Country (it's a bit hard to tell with stuffed animals). You want to know what those adventures were? I have no idea; how should I know what my stuffed bear gets up to when I'm not looking? I was too busy visiting, and eating, and going into the city to do shopping and sightseeing (and eating), to pay attention to bearly adventures. But that's all to the good; stuffed bears tend to get self-conscious when they're watched too much.

Life, the Universe, and Jet-lagged Ramblings. I'll be more coherent when my circadian rhythms have attained the state of resynchronosis.

California Dreamin'

It snowed last night. Again. Grey skies, white ground, grey slushy roads. There was nothing else for it, I had to pop the Mamas And The Papas album into the car CD player and listen to "California Dreamin'" all the way to town and back. And I was going to moan, snivel and whine about this weather to you today, but then I realised that the more I think about it, the more depressed it's making me. So I won't.

Just yesterday, I heard a spring bird chirping outside my window. And the snowdrops are still going strong, with the crocus and daffodil shoots making an appearance just a few inches over from them, too. It seems winter and spring are really duking it out this year. Winter is probably trying to make up for its initial reluctance by excessive February tenacity. But, alas, it's a losing battle; winter is doomed. It's just trying to make me feel some of its gloom before it goes. So I'll look at my California pictures and blow a raspberry at winter, because I know the sun will be back eventually.

And then I was thinking about this phrase, "duking it out". Aren't there some kind of rules for boxing matches that were first written down by a duke of some sort? Queensberry Rules, I believe. Oh, no, wait, Queensberry was a Marquess. Wrong sort of aristocrat, one level too low for a Duke. But higher up in the ranks than Earl Grey and the Earl of Sandwich, whose inventions were far more useful to humankind than a set of regulations for which part of the body you're allowed to land a blow on.

Life, the Universe, Seasons and Sandwiches. I know which aristocratic inventions are highest on my list. Do you take milk in yours?

Lucifer and Ice Worms

The other day, my propensity for reading historic fiction prevented a potential accident. Really! I was driving down the road, listening to Felix Possak's warbling on the CD player. He's got a medley of a couple of World War I songs, which starts with "It's A Long Way to Tipperary", and then goes into "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag" - and that's when I nearly drove off the road. You see, I'd never really paid attention to the words - have you? This is how it goes:

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile,
While you've a lucifer to light your fag...

While you've a WHAT to light your WHAT?!? But then, with a lag of only a split second, my historic-fiction-reading filter kicked in, and I straightened the steering wheel with nary a twitch and we continued rolling down the road on our merry way instead of being marooned in the ditch as we might have been otherwise. "While you are in possession of a MATCH to light your CIGARETTE", that's what that means. Rather more innocuous than one might think.

Incidentally, my other favourite song on that CD is "When the Ice Worms Nest Again":


There's a husky, dusky maiden in the Arctic

And she waits for me but it is not in vain,

For some day I'll put my mukluks on and ask her

If she'll wed me when the ice worms nest again.

In the land of the pale blue snow,
Where it's ninety-nine below,
And the polar bears are roaming o'er the plain,
In the shadow of the Pole
I will clasp her to my soul,
We'll be happy when the ice worms nest again.

Ah, the romance! Ah, Canadian culture and folklore! Ah, the tender chirping of the ice worms as they nest in their charming arctic ice nests, gathering ice worm fodder for their little ice wormlets! Incidentally, the song ends with the singer being creamed over the head by his sweetheart with the ham bone of a bear because he stayed out too late and didn't come home to their igloo until half past two in the morning. Serves him right, I'd say.

Life, the Universe, Lucifers and Ice Worms. I suggest the reading of historic fiction to keep you safe on the road.

Snowdrops

This one is for Bonnie Heather, who was asking today if it's springtime yet. Look what's blooming beside my front door! Aren't they lovely? Yes, spring is on its way, even though just a few feet over from the snowdrops there's still a dirty patch of the white stuff that gives them their name.

I planted the bulbs for these little beauties last fall; I finally remembered to get some and actually put them in the ground. In the last few years, every spring I'd go "Gee whiz, I forgot to plant spring bulbs again!" but this year, I remembered. And then had to replant the poor things once or twice, because the cats figured that handy spot beside the front door, right against the wall of the house where it's protected from the snow, must be meant for a litter box for them. Grrrr.

I'm not a good gardener; really, I've always had a bit of a brown thumb. When it comes to remembering to actually look after the plants, it's usually something along the lines of "Oh dang, you're dead! I suppose I should have watered you before now..." (What does that say about me that I don't talk to my plants when they're alive, but only when they've gone to their lack-of-watery grave? Hmm...) But there are some things that I've managed to grow over the years, and, if I may say so, the fact that they're surviving against the odds (meaning "me", who is, admittedly, quite odd at times) makes them all the more special.

I'm especially fond of spring flowers; there is something so hopeful about them. So far, I've had crocuses, which are very lovely, but as I said, the snowdrops were a long-time wish. The crocuses are only just starting to poke up out of the ground (you can see their little shoots beside the snowdrops in the picture), so it'll be a good month before we see blossoms on them. They'll be the colourful harbingers of real spring, but the snowdrops are like a promise that winter is winding down, and spring won't be far behind.

Life, the Universe, and Snowdrops. Yes, Bonnie, it's springtime, or at least it soon will be.

Going Grey

I've been progressively going more grey. Actually, my first grey hair ever I found when I was 24 (which was, umm, some time ago). I pulled it out and carefully preserved it in my journal with scotch tape. However, that one grey hair was the only one for quite a while; the silver didn't start proliferating until a few years ago. My daughter one day, around Christmas time, said "Mom, you've got tinsel on your head! Oh, wait..." (That's a rather festive way of looking at it, isn't it?)

And then yesterday, I was in a conversation with someone, and he said something like this: "As we get older, we see more of the grey areas in life. And I think there is much, much more grey than there is black and white." That, gentle reader, is profound. As the greys on our heads multiply, we also (if we're healthy people) start to see more of the grey around us.

And grey, let me tell you, is an important thing. Remember that chiaroscuro I've been waffling on about some time ago? It's impossible without grey. You need the grey in between the blacks and whites to give shape and depth to your image. In art theory, it's called the halftones. What we call black-and-white is, actually, shades of grey; it's not often you actually get full-on black and full-on white in a picture. You can, of course, and it's very dramatic when you do, but you lose most of the shape and practically all of the depth.

And now I'm wondering: is there, perhaps, a connection between our society's insistence on women, in particular, colouring their hair, not letting the grey show, and a general unwillingness to see the depth and roundedness of life as a whole?

Life, the Universe, and Shades of Grey. It's all in the halftones.