As the snow continues to fall in the middle of this “snow event” I am listening to a wonderful chorus by a little bird chirping by my chimney.  It’s probably sitting on the branches of my forsythia bush as it provides a lovely accompaniment to the flurries floating to the garden patch below it.  Somewhere deep beneath the ground the roots probably want to know, “Was yesterday’s warm glow a true promise of spring, or just a peek? Why are these snowy drops icing my tips?”

Dusty is rolling about on the carpet at my feet, intent on drying the remaining bits of snow from his back and belly.  Despite having a neatly cleared trail before him, he pounced about in the snow like a little rabbit, he snuck through the rose bushes, circled round the fire pit and flung himself towards the snow-covered leaf piles near the wolf willows.  So needless to say, when he was finally ready to go back inside, he had sported a pile of snow bundles hanging all over him.  His little whiskers had a white, smushy mess crusted on them, while his paw pads had crushed snow sticking firmly between them.

“Come here you little snowball,” I said as he gleefully jumped up for a quick toweling.  However, his idea of quick was even briefer than mine, and off he dashed down the hardwood floor and into the family room before I could even try to catch him.

So here we are. He’s rolling about with his snow bundles, as I sit by the fireplace being serenaded by a bird in the forsythia bush at the foot of our chimney. Outside my window all the spruce trees have that gorgeous look like gobs of white icing have been plopped onto a decorated Christmas scene.  Of course in December this would be a winter wonderland.  Today for some it might be misconstrued as a March mess.  To me it’s a gift in a moment in time, on a March day in Springbank, Alberta.

Hmmm… maybe I should turn on my dryer since we strategically planted the forsythia bush directly in front of the dryer vent.  This provides some blasts of warmth for my favourite spring bush to at least try to bloom its delicate yellow flowers.  I usually gratefully accept that the struggling blossoms on the bottom branches have come forth to take an opening bow, but provide only a short preview of what might happen.

Like Dusty, shaking off the snow bundles, I’ve decided to enjoy the March surprise.  I turn on my dryer; sending some pleasant breezes to surround the performance unfolding outside my laundry window, and then I settle back in my chair to listen to the concert.  I picture the forsythia’s blossom buds resting, as the snow bundles on the branches above, giving some sources of moisture to the roots below.  A cold and refreshing drink after a warm Chinook wind will probably send some encouragement below, some reassurance that March holds the coming of spring.

The song has ended, a simple reprise of intermittent chirps flows through the chimney walls.  Dusty has curled up in his bed for an afternoon nap.  There’s a lull in the snowfall, a silence beneath a snowy blanket.

Perhaps this is the premier of the colors of spring, a pure lusciously white snowfall, silencing the landscape, covering us with snow bundles.

It must be Bread Bag Time!!

As I woke up to another snowfall this morning I am thinking of the promise of spring, and for me, that always, always meant Bread Bag Time…

I twist the bread bag closing it tightly, as I carefully avoid squashing the leftover ends of the loaf.  I tuck it into a corner of the freezer, pleased that I will be ready to feed the ducks on a future visit to the park.  For a moment I picture a bright, sunny afternoon by the edges of a pond, as ducks scurry to grab a piece of bread I toss their way.  By my side is Dusty, my little dog, balancing on his hind legs as he watches them from a safe distance.  His instinctive reaction is to raise himself higher so he can assess the situation and satisfy his cautious curiosity while wondering,

“Is that something I should explore? Should I run towards it or away from it? Will it play with me?” I can almost hear him thinking these thoughts.

I smile and sigh as I file the picture of Dusty and the ducks into the pages of my mind, just as I tucked the bread bag into its corner in the freezer.  One spring day I will unearth both of them, because if it’s spring it must be bread bag time.  Yes, if it is spring, I can close my eyes and I can feel a bread bag flopping by the side of my legs as I skip along the banks of a stream. I can hear the water gurgling around the rocks and fallen branches. I can smell the muddy areas hiding under last fall’s leaves, waiting for me to slip and slide in their musty depths.  Yes, if it is spring, I can travel back in time to bread bag time with my Dad, when we would scout the stream for the best place to fish on the opening day of trout fishing season.

Every year Dad would grab the bags of leftover bread scraps from the freezer and we’d go for a walk by the stream that flowed through and around our small town.  The local fish and game unit stocked the stream with new trout every year before the start of the fishing season.  Dad said he could predict where the greater numbers of trout would gather by taking his family for a fish walk.  My sister and I eagerly followed my Dad with our prized bread bags clutched in our hands.  It didn’t matter to us where we were going, as long as we could swing our bags around, toss in a few crumbs to find the fish, and watch them break the surface of the water to grab the tasty treats.

It was Spring and it was bread bag time!

Sometimes I would forget and I would break off a large clump of bread instead of the tiny pieces Dad instructed us to throw.  The clump would float along, a fish might pop up to nibble at it but the clump didn’t disappear like the tiny pieces did.  The fish were hungry but they didn’t mistake a large clump of bread for a water bug. They might be curious and want to see what it was, but they would find out that it didn’t bounce on the water like the tiny pieces did.  I learned that fish were cautious about something new and different.

Looking back, I remember placing my feet as close to the stream bank as possible so I could throw the crumbs to entice the fish.  Sometimes I stood on my tiptoes to increase the reach of my throw.  My sister often ventured out on a small rock or a fallen log so she could make her toss.  I remember I tried to follow her one-year as she hopped across to a small patch of ground in the middle of the stream.  Instead of landing safely I slid down plopping noisily into the water, and frightening the fish away. This resulted in smelly, squishy sneakers for the remainder of the fish walk.  I learned that rushing along without thinking didn’t necessarily bring about the best results!

As I grew older, I realized that the fish walk didn’t actually determine Dad’s choice of where he would fish on opening day.  In fact, Dad usually fished in the same spot each year.  When I asked him why he had taken us on an annual fish walk if he intended on returning to the same spot he merely replied,

“I liked watching your excitement as you were throwing in the crumbs.  Every time a fish popped to the surface of the water you both thought you had won a prize.”

As I look forward to the coming Spring I invite you to join me in getting ready for the bread bag ritual. May it be a reminder to look for new ideas or approaches to what is happening in our lives.  Perhaps you are facing a career change, or a move to a new place.  Perhaps you are experiencing a transition in your life with children, parents, your spouse, or with a new challenge.  Perhaps you will discover an opportunity to explore ways to serve others, or how to develop a new or older friendship.

Lets take out those bread bags that we have saved and tucked away so carefully.  Maybe we’ve pushed a few hopes and wishes into a corner, but the new days of Spring might help us to test the waters once again.  We can toss a few crumbs onto the surface, and we can attempt to gain a better understanding of what will happen.  Sometimes we might be like a clump of bread not seen for who or what we truly are, sometimes we might fall down before we even have a chance to toss in our ideas, or we might make an overwhelming splash and lose the chance to make a difference.  Fortunately, we all have the opportunity to renew ourselves, our relationships and our reactions to each new phase of life.  Springtime comes; we all can dig out our bread bags, we can hope for a few prizes to pop to the surface of our everyday walks, and we can find the excitement we have to give to others as a response to what life brings to us.

Ah spring, and the simple ritual of the bread bag.  I look forward to my upcoming days with Dusty at the park.  I imagine we will take a walk, we will stop and I will throw some bread to the ducks at the water’s edge.  Dusty will rise up on his hind legs, eagerly walking closer while trying to determine what he should do next.  I’ll be waiting for the prizes to pop, as the bread bag flops against my leg, walking along the water’s edge.

Diamonds all along the way, diamonds beckoning me to reach down and scoop up their glittering beauty, to toss them over my head so that they shower me with cascading rivulets of bouncing, dancing lights.  Diamonds all along the way, lining the side of the road, sparkling from the tips of every stalk of grass, glinting in the morning sun, shimmering just beyond my windshield, frosted diamonds darting, dazzling like a strand of flickering strobe lights.  I could almost hear them resounding in their glory, following me like a crescendo up the crest of the hill.  Diamonds, albeit frozen icicle diamonds caught in the rays of the sun as it beamed across the fields, diamond icicles all along the way, lining the road on my drive toward the highway.  Could there be anything better than diamonds in the morning to begin my day?

I fell on black ice today because I forgot to notice the subtle shades of dark and light grey on the macadam trail.  Thankfully my knee with the titanium screw in it took the brunt of my fall.

I’ve decided to become a Love Bug!!  Perhaps not a radical shift in my thinking or approach to life, but as a visual image for simple goal setting the Love Bug idea has kept me smiling since yesterday morning.  After all New Year’s Day fell on a Sunday this year so my focus for forming a 2012 format had to be postponed until Monday.

Then I “walked around” with the idea all day, letting it sink in and fill me with a joyful perspective for the New Year.  So before Dusty and I head out for today’s walk I wanted to share my Love Bug thoughts with you:

Yesterday morning dawned as usual with a morning pause or “paws alarm” to be exact as Dusty patted his front paws on my cheeks.  As he spends the night snuggled next to me on my right side, his mornings begin with a slow stretch, followed by a purposeful crawl toward my face.  Then he gently places one of his paws on my cheeks and waits for me to acknowledge him.  Apparently sometimes I do not respond appropriately or within a reasonable timeframe, because some mornings my drowsy dreamlike state unravels into a scary scene where I am being tossed back and forth in a lifeboat while wearing a lifejacket that has a loose strap jingling and jangling against a belt buckle.  Some days I wake up wondering which ocean I’ve been swaying about in, thinking I’m going to tear off that inflatable noisemaker only to recognize the jarring sounds as the familiar “shaking for attention” dance that Dusty performs to declare his desires. He simply tosses his whole body back and forth and lets his collar and nametag serve as a loud percussion section.  In this case it means, “don’t we need to wake up now?”

Fortunately Dusty enjoys performing the “paws alarm” and generally waits patiently for me to respond to him.  Yesterday with my eyes still stuck shut, I stroked his little back and promised that I was trying to wake up.  After a few more pointed paw pats, I surprised him by trying to scoop him up as I hopped out of bed.  Of course he avoided the intended capture by leaping onto the floor and promptly signaling his delight with more vibrating moves.  That’s when the motion clicked my memory into fast rewind to the summer before I entered sixth grade.  I had a small lump removed from my upper left arm and found myself spending several days in the local hospital’s children ward.  As a consolation present my mother brought me a peculiar looking stuffed toy, called a Love Bug.  It was covered with soft, pink, fluffy hair that could be brushed into a sleek, smooth texture.  It came with specific instructions to give it loving back rubs and to groom it into an adorable stuffed pet.

To have a chance to give it a “remake” or a “new do” I could quickly turn it over, give it a good shake, flip it again and fluff it up into new furriness! The Love Bug had another chance to become a new, crazy, comforting, creation.

As always, Dusty has given a gift to me merely by seeking to communicate his own distinct desires.   His awkward way of shaking me into action has reminded me to make a different visual resolution this year.  I have determined that I may need to make a few flip-overs, to experience a bit of firm flinging back and forth, and to certainly discipline myself to do a fair amount of some detailed “fussing over” as my Southern friends would say, to become all that I hope for in 2012.  I need and want to become my vision of a Love Bug!! Whenever the mistakes occur, I will toss them into oblivion, face the future, fluffed up and ready to share in loving and meaningful ways.

Happy New Year everyone!

Love, Dusty and Dee

Dusty and I watched the sunrise this morning, waiting for the pink and orange streaks to sneak behind the black silhouettes of our backyard trees.  We sat silently as the darkness deliberately moved out of the way when the light pushed its presence from behind and placed itself before us.  A generous gift, a new day to begin!  We didn’t waste time; when we noticed that the thermometer noted a rising temperature, we grabbed the gift and ran with it, or rather walked with it!