Spring is here, whatya know about that? Outside, a great flapping white cloud of gulls puts me in mind of enormous snowflakes, and it’s cold enough that I’m surprised it isn’t actually snowing, but the calendar claims it’s spring.

I took some lovely ultra-closeup shots of spring flowers yesterday just to prove that it’s really here. Without that evidence, I might not be able to tell just yet.

Isn’t spring glorious? Here we have proof positive that miracles happen, and every year we take it for granted. How can anyone with open eyes continue to doubt that magic is real?

I said no to music tonight, a tough call, but incipient headache and residual wooziness made it seem like a nice time to curl up in the studio with my computer.

This heater runs hot and cold: it heats too long, then stays off too long. To compound the annoyance, it’s twenty feet across the room from where I’m sitting on the bed, lap occupied by laptop.

Still, I can breathe despite the alternating stuffiness and chill, I have nearly enough water, I can hear the bass thumping from the house and my head only hurts a little. Who’s complaining?

Up late writing into the night, so I forgot to write these measly 100 words. And I’m not finished. Damn deadlines! They show up out of the blue despite the fact that I know exactly when they’re coming, the same date every month. Fortunately the stakes (and the rewards, alas) are low, and I always get it done, even if a day or two later than I wish.

Feeling a lot better. Music tonight; I hope I will be able to stay vertical and perhaps even participate. Well, the couch is here should I need to lie down and listen.

‘Tis St. Paddy’s Day. I’m not wearing green, but in honour of the old fart, I looked him up online. It seems he converted the Irish to Christianity basically by ripping off their rituals (like bonfires at Easter and superimposing the symbol of the Sun over the Christian Cross to create the Celtic Cross), mixing and matching them into a sort of paganized Christianity. Driving the snakes from Ireland represents the eradication of the old religion, yet now his day evokes visions of leprechauns and fairies in most folks’ minds.

Ah, ‘tis a wee bit of irony for ye. Slainte.

It’s raining, so what else is new? It could be snowing, that’s a traditional March pattern here, a couple weeks of snow just when you think it’s spring. Next comes April and the Big Move, with its logistical nightmares that I’d prefer not to imagine at the moment. Rather, I‘ll look forward to what comes after, trusting in the moments as they arrive to inspire appropriate action. What’s the point worrying ahead of time about how I’ll do what I know I have to do soon but not yet? “When the moment for decision arrives, the choice will be obvious.”

I’m committed to writing these 100-word tidbits every day of this calendar year (count ‘em; each short piece is exactly 100 words long) or I’d not bother tonight, being sick and all. But instead of whinging about how I feel, I’ll wax positive about the year ahead. Changes are in store, and though I can’t be certain they’ll be wonderful, I have a strong premonition. I’m coming up to the big five-oh and that feels like a powering-up vibration tuning itself in my body. Get ready, it seems to hum in bass-tinted tones, this is going to be good…

It was a lovely massage, then midway in I felt a tickling in my throat, which became a throb, then turned painful. By the time I got home, I was crashing. Detoxing, they call it, the release of stored ick from the stimulus of the massage. Sick is what I call it, and miserable is how I feel. My sinuses are swollen, my head throbs, my tonsils feel raw. Poor, po’ me is the song I’m singing, accompanied by tiny violins.

The seagulls don’t care. They’re partying on the beach, wheeling in great flapping crowds to celebrate their springtime abundance.

Nights have been lovely lately, sprinkled with scintillating stars set against a black velvet background. Around the horizon, the sky’s lightening serves as canvas upon which is painted a palette of shades of grey, shapes of mountain and cloud. It’s cold still, not quite right for hanging out at night unless warmly dressed. I seem to be hibernating in my hidey-hole this winter, enjoying the vista from this side of the window except when I venture out to pee or photograph something interesting from the deck. Beauty is the backdrop for my world these days, and music is the soundtrack. Blessings.

I’ve kept out of the global warming, climate change, ‘are we doing it or is it natural’ debate up until now, mainly because I find myself securely anchored on neither side. I feel two distinct parts of my brain responding to the issue.

One part of my brain is delighted and hopeful about the possibility that yes, the government (of British Columbia at least, hey, it’s a start: see Corky Evans’ speech below) has at last, in its monolithic, leviathan-slow manner, however reluctantly come around to acknowledging the existence of an issue that has frightened most scientists and all those not willfully in denial about the solid evidence for the last waaay too many years. How long have environmentalists and activists of all stripes been pounding on the government’s thick head to take this reality in and to begin to express the will to act?

And now… wow. They’re getting it. This part of my brain is rocked by that. She wants to party in the streets to celebrate.

The other part of my brain, the suspicious ‘what are they up to?’ part, remains skeptical, more than half-convinced that government and all its minions are operating on an inflexible and evil agenda designed to take us all straight to Hay-ull, is watching for them to reveal their true agenda: that of the nuclear power industry.

The possibility is both real and chilling. Leaving aside the pleasurable picture that all is well and we are finally coming around to work together (happily-ever-after music tenderly playing in the background), I’d like to look at the consequences of a shift to nuclear power, which as I recall Al Gore proselytized rather strenuously in his film An Inconvenient Truth.
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Part of my brain is hopeful that the government has at last, in its monolithic, leviathan-slow manner, come around to acknowledging the existence of an issue that has frightened scientists and all those not willfully in denial of the solid evidence.

And now, they get it. The optimist part of my brain wants to party in the streets to celebrate.

The pessimistic other part of my brain remains skeptical, more than half-convinced that government and its minions have an inflexible and evil agenda to take us all straight to Hay-ull, whose true agenda is that of the nuclear power industry.