Slices of March

March 18th, 2009

My computer crashed. Because my husband is an IT professional we have a good back-up system and I didn’t lose anything. Because he is a techy nerd he has an extra laptop I can borrow. The keyboard is European and I grow weary of correcting my y’s and z’s, and the colon and backslash are in the wrong places but I’m glad to have somthing to work with. I have a poetry submission I’d like to get out this week.

* * *

I have been irritable and ill-tempered, moody and out-of-sorts. R has been writing his master’s thesis but from my mood you would think I had been the one up writing past midnight nearly every day for the past month. I am sharp and pointy and I don’t seem to fit into any of the rooms of my life. I am frustrated, but I do not know¬†why.

* * *

I meet Dutch Friend’s Baby, he is a month old already between letting her rest after the birth and Boychen’s sickness and our vacation. I am in wonder at how small he is, Dutch Friend says he’s getting so big. I hold him and for a minute, a vertigo minute, I want another one. It passes.

* * *

Boychen is growing out of his morning nap but cannot quite adapt to one nap a day. It contributes to the cranky.

* * *

I write the date in my poetry noteback and am taken aback. It is the eighteenth already, half the month gone. Spring is coming even to Switzerland: crocuses and snowbells, songbirds at the feeder in the back, tiny deep maple buds starting to show on the bushes that line our front fence. I will know the names of these plants this summer, I tell myself. The sun comes out, the days are warmer, the boys and I spend the afternoon at the playground, and on the changing table sand comes tumbling out of the Boychen’s diaper. It helps against the cranky.

* * *

I feel the urge to buy herbs and potted plants for the terrace, something green for beside the front door. It is spring and I want to grow something.

* * *

Boychen vibrates when he is excited, he stamps his little feet up and down, rocks side to side. He points and squeals – a dog, a pigeon, the penguins at the Tierpark. People cannot help but smile. This afternoon he stands at our open upstairs window calling down and waving to people walking past on the sidewalk below. One woman calls out – “Tshcuss! Tschuss!” – and waves at him until she is halfway down the block. He makes people smile, this one. This one, he has a gift for happiness.

* * *

Finally finally finally a poem. I have been mute for weeks, but finally this.