my red oriental poppies, which I grew from seed, have finished blooming.
the clematis are long gone and the mulberry trees are free of fruit.
they have all yielded the way to the giant azure pom poms of hydrangea,
yellow and orange daylilllies, bright eyed daisies and scarlet bergamot.
i am no longer taller than the sunflowers.

today we sampled the first ripe wild blackberries and today,
as always, I was surprised by a wee little snake
living under the driftwood in the garden. she hissed inaudibly and I yelped,
quite audibly, scaring her away.

i can hardly believe how quickly the beans and tomatoes
climb to the sun.

when i am no longer surprised by these things, I will be dead. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo: Kimmy Certa, Bergamot, 2008 

I had a few hours yesterday that were unpleasant, which isn't really a big deal in the scheme of my life. I was plum tuckered out from working with not enough sleep. I took a new job that I like heaps better and is closer to home but I just didn't get enough sleep : plain and simple.
Not a good time to engage in self reflection. Not a fun time to be a mama.

 

But my tired out self got cranky with the kids because all I wanted to do was nap and all they wanted was to spend time with me because they missed me. With each blink my eyelids struggled to regain the upward position.

My tired out self yelled, "Leave. Me. Alone," and slammed the bedroom door. She (that would be me) then wept into her pillow wondering what the hell she was doing with her life.  Still working in a coffeehouse. No pension. No savings. Nearly 40. No Master's degree. No "career." No "plan." No dental coverage and a tenuous budget.

Indulgent. I know.

Sleepy self continued along those lines for a bit until she remembered a woman named Goreth with no job and a heart full of love in Rwanda and the homeless person with sunburned cheeks and smiling eyes who came into the coffeehouse; bought a cappuccino and asked for 2 olives and then pushed her cart away in search of shelter. Sleepy self said, "Enough," and came back to her senses.

It is a constant discussion I have with myself. The one where I tell myself to forget all the "supposed tos" and "should haves." They are useless exercises. 

"Where am I going?"

"I am right here and glad of it!" 

 

 

 

*photo: Kimmy Certa, Digital Sunset. 

 a glimpse of yesterday. boy removing a  holly leaf from  his sister's foot.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors,
there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
Rainer Maria Rilke

Of all of the months, I think April is the most interesting to experience. There is just something completely unique about the transition from winter to spring. April finds you where you are and can lift you up into a whirlwind of love, creativity, and constant motion or April can bring you to your knees , befuddling you with tears and leaving you feeling turned inside out and slightly crazed.

I speak from experience.

 

Every April I chatter on and on to my friends about my April Theory and I post a little essay on this here blog !

I was happy to note this year that Barbara Kingsolver seems to agree with the April effect . She writes in Animal,Vegetable, Miracle, "April is the cruelest month, T.S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises, all passion is really a setup, and we're doomed to get our hearts broken yet again. I agree, and would further add: Who cares? Every spring I go there anyway, around the bend, unconditionally. I'm a soul on ice flung out on a rock in the sun where the needles that pierced be begin to melt all as one¹."

 

So without further adieu, Here is my annual posting of the APRIL THEORY

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

April is here. If your are feeling tad unhinged, a bit crazed or just plain touched, just hold on tight. Things will probably seem more manageable come May. I'm serious.

April,or early spring, has a special kind of energy. A creative, explosive force  that can make one wild or melancholy. Sad or prolific. Absolutely wonky or wretchedly dark...or maybe a little bit of everything.

My own life experience has revealed such a pattern. This pattern led to The April Theory. As far back as I've been tracking it goes like this....

1992:January, February, March, Crazy
1993: January, February, March, depressed and green warranted
1994: January, February, March,  Specifically, 4/9/94 (palindrome) was an infamous night in my  personal history. It is the night I, my first husband, my best friend and a few other folks had an origami party (mentioned earlier in blog entry titled Paperfolding) and we also had a silly, yet serious, proclamation of VOWELS (not vows). I'll save the rest for another entry. Needless to say, we were completely pixilated. April can be quite inspiring.
1995: April: incredibly bohemian times tinged with mania, highly creative time.
1996: April: separation from first husband
1997: April: wildly delicious, intensely creative time
1998: April: same as 1997
1999: April: very depressing pregnancy. I was not a happy pregnant person.
2000: April: I have no recollection of this year's April
2001: April: I was in the hospital the first week of April after having been operated on and diagnosed with stage lll colon cancer. Twas the most horrific April of all.
2002: April: overwhelmingly lovely spring
2003: April: a prolific time
2004: Ecstatic April as our daughter was born a few days before. She was born exactly 3 years after my cancer diagnosis; cancelling out that horrific day.

2005-07: A calm but highly productive and artistic April

 

    This theory developed from long conversations with my best friend, Corey, who has experienced the April crazies with great frequency. Perhaps, the term spring fever sprang from this phenomena? And I would definitely make a slight distinction between, to quote owl in Bambi, being "twitterpated" and the April freak outs that I have experienced; though they are definitely related. Maybe this tendency is forgotten knowledge? Maybe the spring rites from days of yore emerged from an innate need for humans to exorcise the darkness of winter through wild bonfire dances and copulation in the bushes whose branches were swelling with life. A formal and extravagant farewell to death at least until next winter.

The spring equinox occurs when sun passes through the constellation Pisces, so that explains it all right? The sign of Pisces is two fish swimming in opposite directions. I've often used that little bit of information to explain away my inner conflict and odd behaviors .

 
Here's what I have in support of my April/Spring Theory, play along:

~ According to T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland

~ More suicides occur in the spring than any other season...bet most folks think it is winter but I reckon spring is a slap in the face to people who are in the depths of despair. At least the coldness of winter commiserates with you.

~ Spring Fever: n. a feeling of languor or yearning brought on by the coming of spring

~ Then there is April Fool's Day

~ I've heard country people say that ailing old folks usually make through the winter and then die in spring.

~ I know that April is the kind of month that feels like a perfect May day on the 6th and a brisk March day on the 8th. It is unpredictable. It is marginal. Lots of folks just can' t handle marginality. Marginality can conflict nations so I imagine it can unruffle your psyche a bit too.

~April is National Poetry Month

See, that can't be coincidental.

So, let spring in. If you resist, you'll probably feel foul. Either way, you'll be slightly askew. Get outside and put your hands in the dirt. Build a fire and enjoy the feeling of a warm face and cool posterior; you'll be sharing a sensual experience that has been felt by peoples from all times and places in human history. Make love, let your kids stay up way too late. Give in to your creative desires. Let wildness rule for a bit, you may not know it, but you need it.

Yep, April is here and I feel compelled to share my theory and give fair warning. This one feels like it is going to be a doozie.

I'll always, ever remember when
April came and licked us up,
Pouring us in and out of cups².

Fare thee well.

 

 

 

¹ Kingsolver, Barbara, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, (Harper Collins, 2007) 45.

² Certa, Kimmy. April's Ten of Cups, (self published,1994)

 

We spent our Sunday talking about fertility symbols, what Easter is all about for Christians, eating chocolate eggs, and painting the front porch. I turned over a bed for my cilantro and and peas and sowed alyssum and snapdragon seeds. I gathered the hair from our brushes and put it out for the birds, rehung the purple birdhouse our son made and yelped quite loudly when I dug up a sleeping baby brown snake. The small people spent the day giggling and playing in that harmonious state of imaginary play that makes mamas and papas smile at each other with deep satisfaction. It was a great day.

 

Yep, life is clipping along and it feels good. We haven't spotted Percy the groundhog yet but I continue to fret over what to do about the voracious  rodent and her offspring. Last year, most of gardening endeavors were digested by Percy and the bunnies. The wild turkeys haven't appeared yet. I forgot to write down when we first saw mama turkey and babies last year. I won't forget this year!

 

 

This year, I am trying to be more tolerant of the wild black berries that took up residence in the middle of my herb garden. That area will hence forward be known as THE blackberry patch. Actually, we have two. One on either side of the house. They have also decided to intermingle with the grapevines that adorn  great lengths of our chain link fence.  I will tolerate the prickly canes for the sake of purple stained fingers and because the turkeys love them so.

Last week my son asked me why spring is the shortest season. I explained to him that all of the seasons are of equal length but he didn't believe me and neither did I. 

Perhaps it is because spring is fraught with anticipation, smells, hopes, dreams, life, color, dirty hands and warm shoulders and it is all just too intense to last any longer than it does.