Spring

There it was. The first crocus of Spring, peeking out of the walking path at the park. We had seen a few very pregnant robins at our bird bath and a duckling family with five new baby ducklings sashaying in the pond, but...seeing a crocus? That means that Spring is here. 

I have not been a particularly patient waiter this year. We had a few peeks here and there but then it would turn cold and rainy, blustery with a sharp wind that bit at my cheeks. I'd scurry out to my car and sit shivering, waiting for the heat to start kicking in properly. 

How I longed to open the sun roof, roll down a window. Yesterday, we did. At last. 

I am not promised every season anymore. I suppose, if you are rational, none of us are. But, for me...for anyone with cancer...you know that the season you are in could be your last. So, it has meaning. 

This Spring means that I can finally have T drag out the adirondack chairs from the shed and I can sit outside and read with the sun warming me. Wearing capris and a light sweater. Sneakers with no socks. An iced coffee by my side instead of a piping hot one. 

No intense watching of the weather channel and hoping that there is no mention of snow. 

Mabel, our mystery cat will show up to visit more often. Like a few nights ago. She was perched in the backyard drinking from the bird bath. T opened the back door and whistled and she came running in to say hello. We offered her a dish of water. She sniffed it and turned up her nose, was far more interested in the new quilt that was on our bed. She sprawled on it, stretched out, approved. We sat down to watch a sci fi movie and she settled on the floor in front of the television set, in front of the fire place. We have a wooden fox there, too. She sniffed him as she always does and then gave us a look as if to say, "This is such an ugly piece, girlfriends. Really? A FOX?" 

I got up to rinse a dish in the kitchen sink and as soon as she heard the water come on, she was up on the counter, sticking her face in delicately for several dainty sips. I gave her a look. 

"Seriously, Mabel? You refuse a bowl of water but are fine slurping up at the kitchen sink?"

If cats could grin, she did. She likes roughing it. She likes to be a slurper now and then. Glamour isn't everything. 

You can learn a lot from a cat. Especially one like Mabel. 

This morning, I woke up feeling awful. 3 more days of chemo and then I get a week off. I am so feeling this last week. My body is exhausted. Everything hurts. Everything. Food has no taste at all, except for a faint coppery aftertaste. Last night, after my shower, T practically had to carry me to bed. I was just exhausted from washing my hair. Today, she stood over me, holding out a slice of peanut butter toast. 

"C'mon. You have to eat. Peanut butter is full of protein. I bought that 7 grain bread that you like. EAT." 

I glared up at her. 

"Yes, Nurse Ratched," I said in my you-aren't-my-mother voice. 

But, I dutifully ate the toast. She was right. It helped. Later, we would drive to Penzey's Spices to buy some of that Vietnamese cinnamon that I like to sprinkle in my coffee. The sky would be the kind of robin's egg blue that you only see in the Spring and Autumn. Everyone was out walking, smiling. Enjoying the day. 

We stopped at the park on the way home. I sat on my bench with my book while T geared up for her walk. 

"Would you like me to pick you a crocus or two to take home with us?" she asked. 

I told her no. Let them enjoy Spring, too. They had been buried all Winter under feet of snow. Let their little yellow heads shoot for the sky. 

Spring is finally here. And so am I.