On the rainy (of course) evening of our return, after a stop at the grocery store for provisions and colorful tulips, I uploaded painted tulips into the header for March and collapsed into bed with a glad-to-see-us, but out-of-sorts, Frances.
She doesn’t like the weather. While our beloved house sitter was here, tending to her every need in snow and ice, she put up with it – but perhaps expected better with our homecoming.
We’d hoped for a little better ourselves! We traded cotton blanket for wool and down, t-shirts and sandals for many insulated layers, a dozing-on-sunshine-soaked-sand monk seal for a deer grazing on the bluff above the white-capped Strait. Water flowed icy right out of the tap, and snow littered the side of the drive. Daffodils hold their buds tight.
Checking messages on the machine the next morning, – and hearing again the ones I can’t ever erase – a string of “Hi Mom,” “Hey parents it’s me,” “Hey it’s me!” I kept thinking how amazing and how wonderful it was for 10 days to have the real people instead of the disembodied voices. And to be warm! And read – and eat fresh island produce.
Then I opened the shades and saw a muted rainbow arching off toward the Pacific. The near end dipped right to the beach below the bluff.