Snow, Squeals of Joy, and Snowflakes

Photo: Ileana Johnso

We finally got five inches of winter in one day, on the second day of spring, March 21, 2018. A few powdery flakes in December dashed our hope for a white Christmas.  This was a heavy snow which could easily turn to slush and then refreeze. The Hawk was blowing slightly but the snow did not scatter like powder in all directions.

We tried to go to our local park but it was closed. Two menacing park rangers, high on their minion power to control admission to nature, told us in threatening voices that the park is closed and we should leave. The fact that we were on state roads paid by us as taxpayers of Virginia, seemed to escape the tiny brains of these control freaks. But, in the name of peace and tranquility, we turned around without saying a word.

We decided that we could trudge our way into the park through our own back yard before we got too wet to care about nature and its breathtaking beauty.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The snow was coming down fast covering the landscape in a winter wonderland, to the delight of children in the neighborhood who brought out their sleighs to slide down the many hills around. For the first time ever, I-95 N was completely empty of traffic, only a few south-bound vehicles.

Trucks with ploughs attached were busy clearing main roads and highways while many streets remained covered in a silent white blanket.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

Our resident fox surprised me as she dashed across the back yard, running swiftly into the woods in search for food. She has become the object of concern of many neighborhood newbies who are worried about their pets. They don’t know that the fox has a taste for squirrels but in a bind, she might steal other critters.

Grazing under the snow

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The snow is coming heavier and the flakes are dancing in the crisp air. It has collected five inches so far; it’s a heavy snow that would sting painfully in a snowball fight.  A few children on our street have brought out their toboggans and are squealing with delight as they wipe out at the bottom of the hill into the white blanket. A few are trying to build snowmen but the snow is too heavy and they give up, making snow angels instead.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

We walked to the river bank and, before I had a chance to snap a few shots of the wooden path covered with untouched whiteness, a yellow lab bounded out of the woods sliding on the wet snow. She seemed to be in sledding dog heaven, jumping and running in and out of bushes laden with snowy cotton balls that fell to the ground in a white flurry, covering her with shimmering flakes.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

 

The red cardinals made a stark contrast to the overwhelming brightness – like a jumping feathery stain of blood. A family of deer is foraging at the edge of the park, their heads disappearing in the snow.

We laughed when we caught sight of the marina’s plastic bald eagle nest. We really thought it to be real several years ago when we got five feet of snow and it was much harder to make out shapes accurately in the total whiteout.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The falling snow gives the Potomac River an enchanted glow that only an artist could imagine and paint with his magical pallet and brushes. The barren branches are covered in lacy white designs shooting up to the grey sky. The railroad bridge is cast in the distance in a wintry fog.

A few ducks are slowly gliding on the curiously grey water and birds are chirping in the trees. Yesterday they were ready for spring, preparing their nests and building new ones, the Japanese magnolia was on the verge of opening exquisite pink blooms, and today winter is back, as if it is quarreling with spring and keeps coming back to make one last point before final departure.

Snow is still falling, a myriad of flakes dancing in the air, dancing in my heart, falling on my hair and on my face. Like the kid I used to be, I stuck my tongue out to capture the magic of snow falling from the sky. There is nowhere I would rather be at this moment when I experience the happiness of my childhood winters, carefree and innocent, enjoying life and God’s seasons. It is a dreamy snow, a March snow that appears suddenly like a roaring lion and melts the next day like a lamb, one that will be gone tomorrow, but the memory will linger in my mind’s eyes, my videos, and my photographs.

Thoughts

It’s a lovely spring day with cool temperatures. It’s always cold right before Easter. The dense woods finally lost their dead leaves that had clung, despite very strong winds, to the branches all winter long, like a crispy coat of crinkled browns and beiges. Overnight, they are gone, replaced by green buds and the occasional white and pink wild flowers. The sun is penetrating to the floor, a rare occurrence; the barren branches are casting few shadows. The brave bugs are emerging from their winter slumber.

The birds have been chirping joyously since the last snow had melted. The pond by our house has been visited daily by the same flock of Canada geese, paired up for spring. One couple ventures on our lawn with its winter and lush green grass. I have not seen the deer family coming to graze, I am sure they are finding plenty to eat in the woods; they finally left my chewed up bushes alone. Maybe they will sprout again. One tulip bulb came up and a purple hyacinth is in full bloom.

I am sad that mom is not home to see her beautiful flowers, “her babies” she talked to every day. She is in a sterile hospital, recovering from a stroke. I will push her outside today so she can see the beautiful purple Japanese magnolias in full bloom outside her window.

I’ve thought about life and death a lot lately. It’s not just the dormant nature coming to life again, replacing everything dead with new buds. I thought about our own demise, about human mortality.

It’s been a roller-coaster week, a new baby, a new beautiful life that is here because of us, almost losing my mom the next day, facing my own mortality from unexpected disease, it was too much for anyone to absorb and internalize.

Obviously everybody is going through good and rough times all over the world. Life is precious and a precarious gift that we don’t appreciate and cherish enough. But I see things with more intensity and clarity than ever before.

In two days it will be my dad’s birthday, March 28, he would have been 88 years old, had he lived to such a ripe old age. But his life was cut short at 61 by Ceausescu’s evil communist regime and the lack of medical care under the Castro-style socialized medicine that everyone in the U.S. is now clamoring for.  He died a horrible and painful death, shrinking to a shell of his former self while he was not fed nor given IV fluids in the hospital. Aunt Marcela, his sister, kept him alive with a teaspoonful of broth and water now and then for almost a month.

There is another milestone on March 29, twenty years since I married by wonderful husband, the love of my life. I cannot imagine life without him. And on April 4 is my birthday – I am still on this earth, happy to be alive, and thankful for my blessings from God.

I wished I could have been a writer all my life instead of toiling for the academia that did not care about my dedication to students, the years I spent perfecting my skills and enriching my knowledge that I hope I had passed on to my students.

Tomorrow is Easter – I won’t be able to take mom to church as planned, but I am glad she is still alive and smiling through her sudden disability. She is my Mom who used to move mountains, who climbed on the roof at 72 to sweep dead leaves. Her hand and fingers are now curled, unable to hold my hand, but I can touch her face and she feels my love and kisses.

On this sunny day before the Blessed Easter, thank you, Mom, for being my Mom and for a life of love and precious care to our small family. We love you!

Precious Eyesight

As I dictate to the infamous Siri and to my Dragon software program, frustrated because they don’t like my southern accent, I realize how much we take our sight for granted. In my temporary sightless state, I am icing my bruised and painful eyes, feeling my way around the chair, trying to retrieve a bottle of water and my blanket, knocking over everything else my visual memory forgot that it was close by.

I am no stranger to temporary blindness; I had optic neuritis 17 years ago. Aside from the Multiple Sclerosis scare, I remember the despair of losing my eyesight for 4 days and the indescribable joy of gaining it back thanks to western man’s invention of steroids. Everything went pitch black one day from a bad episode of viral flu - an overwhelming darkness of being trapped in a cave. After agonizing and skin burning round the clock IV steroid treatments, burning that was only soothed by a microwaved washcloth, I gained my eyesight back - first a curtain lifted, then many shades of grey appeared, followed by black and white, and finally exploding full color.

My eyes are shut today after one hour of surgery and are covered with ice bandages to control swelling and bleeding. Unlike 17 years ago, I can see some light underneath the white cloth but I am not allowed to remove it.

I hear sounds from every direction and my sense of smell is much stronger. I can imagine my garden in full bloom, buzzing with bees, the sunshine, the cloudless blue sky, my back yard humming with birds, and the green forest teeming with creatures coming to life.

Chirping birds and agitated squirrels are vocalizing the presence of Bogart, my 15 pound Snowshoe Siamese who is so old and slow now, that no birds or resident squirrels need to fear him. The river is only a stone’s throw away but has disappeared behind the majestic trees that greened overnight and block the view of the glittering water. Only the Canada geese’s strident “honk-honk” give any indication that there is a river nearby. And I’ll be able to see and touch God’s symphony of spring soon once the bandages are removed.

My Jurassic Park