“In March winter is holding back and spring is pulling forward. Something holds and pushes inside of us. -Jean Herse
March is here—beckoning with the whispers of spring and the promise of revitalizing energy. Tiny green shoots that will eventually blossom into day lilies, tulips and irises are peeking out from the brown mulch and last summer’s faded leaves. Birds are chirping sweetly. The squirrels hustle about in the back yard searching for their buried black walnuts and threatening to turn the lawn into an eighteen-hole miniature golf course.
We just came home from three weeks in Hawaii. When I look at the clear blue sky today out my window, I can half close my eyes and imagine I’m still there. Every morning I woke to an azure sky and the deep blue ocean with frothy waves hitting the black rocks in the public access park across from our condo. I hesitate to call the black sands and rocks a beach, because beaches on the Big Island, where we stayed, are not large expanses of white sand. Waikiki Beach on Oahu has white sand brought over from Australia, but our nearby beach made of lava rocks was quite rugged and formidable. No kicking sand at any ninety-eight-pound weakling on our “beach.” I grew to enjoy the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks and the foamy splashes, despite the inhospitable setting for swimming.
Our return March 1st to Wisconsin was like awakening from a pleasant cozy dream to a deluge of cold muddy water. It’s not just the change in temperatures. For three weeks, there were no responsibilities, no deadlines, no pressures. I didn’t even take the computer with me on this trip, as I usually do when we go away for several weeks. I’d sent the final copy of my fourth book with corrections to Karen, my editor, along with my new bio and the acknowledgements, all set to go to the proofreader. I was going on a care-free vacation.
Then one week into our vacation I received an e-mail from Karen: “Did you send the corrected copy to me?” I checked Sent Mail. Nothing to Karen. I found it in Drafts, minus attachments. The computer poltergeist struck again! My husband tried to pull up the missing attachments long distance from our home computer. No dice. So, I wrote to Karen with the bad news. Everything was postponed until I got back. Winter wasn’t holding me back, just my carelessness.
My book launch is delayed until Vivian finishes with the proofreading, Eric does the back cover, and Karen formats the book. Then I peruse it one more time before the book is ready to be published. Self-publishing is misleading because many people contribute to the final book, especially the skilled authors in my two writers’ groups. I can’t do it by myself!
To Die for Pickleball will be published soon. Amazon Kindle pre-orders begin on April 1. Watch on Face Book for news of my in-person book launch at Literatus.
In the fourth book, a murder occurs at the local fitness center and the unusual murder weapon belongs to Sandra Tooksbury. She takes center stage in the investigation with a little help from Beatrice and Vlad. Gaston sniffs out several important clues. Norm keeps us laughing throughout, and even unearths a few clues on his own. You’ll meet some relentless pickleball players, a new villain or two, and several plot twists.
Out my window, I saw my first robin. In fact, she’s trying to build a nest in our Sun Setter awning, much to my dismay. The batteries are dead in the remote control that raises and lowers it, so I’m reduced to running out, yelling and waving my arms at the intruder. She flies to a nearby tree, and waits until I go back inside, then continues to construct her nest. I could live with the nest, but the bird droppings on the patio are unappetizing for get-togethers. Spring pulls forward with little regard for humans.
There’s something about a windy day in March that makes one pause before venturing out for a walk in the sunshine. The sunlight is misleading. Spring fills the day with misdirection, just like the red herrings I plant in my mysteries. Once lured by the false promise of a beautiful March day, I headed out to college classes at UW-Milwaukee with just a light jacket and canvas tennies. Early in our marriage, we only had one car so I rode the city bus. While I was in class, a cold front swept in, and the temperatures dropped drastically. The weather turned from spring to winter in one hour. The morning breeze that gentled tousled my hair became a blizzard worthy squall. Unfortunately, I was left shivering at the bus stop. My nose turned red, my fingers took on a bluish tint before they went numb. Not even sticking them in a pocket helped. I stomped around to build up some inner heat and prevent my feet from freezing. The bus came just in time before hypothermia set in. I almost gave the sympathetic driver a hug but my arms were stiffly frozen at my sides.
I agree with V. E. Schwab. “That’s the trouble with March—the warmth never lasts. There’s that narrow stretch when it parades as spring, just enough for you to thaw if you’re sitting in the sun, but then it’s gone.”
Update on Leona
Our grandbaby is sitting up and crawling. My daughter says she follows her around the apartment like a little puppy. She’s eating solids and learning to make friends with baby Leo—both born at the end of July. Although I can’t hold her in my arms or on my lap, she holds a big place in my heart. We’re flying out to see her in April. I can’t wait!
Luckily, I have my older grands to console me. My college age young man is very busy. We don’t see him as much as when he was younger and played Transformers and Legos with me. When we go to Platteville in a few weeks, our nine-year-old granddaughter will come for a swim and sleepover at our hotel with a pool. Grandchildren don’t stay small forever, which is good because Grandad Michael only has so many horsey rides in him. (Maybe a few more for Leona.)
The reward for making it through all the difficult years of parenting is to spend time with my grandchildren. My parent mantra of “Money doesn’t grow on trees,” has changed to me saying. “Of course, we’ll spend $200 for a hotel room. It’s March. Our granddaughter needs to go swimming.” Matthew might come with his roommate, too. It’s money well spent if it makes the grands happy.
I have one more March quote that made me chuckle.
“March is the month when I realize I should’ve started working on my summer body in January…of next year.” ABCRadio.fm
It may be too late for me to appear in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition this year, but I can still fit in my walking shoes and hike the Interurban Trail today. And I have plenty of dark chocolate for recuperating after the exercise.
Janice Detrie 