This is a post I’ve been waiting three months to write: today marks the last day of winter. Tomorrow the calendar clicks forward to spring, and while it likely won’t feel like it for a while (March is tricky that way, and April too) technically the winter will be over, and that buoys the spirits immeasurably. 

On the southern side of the house, where the sun has melted all the winter, a few pinecones have been revealed on the lawn beneath the Eastern pine. I planted it only a few years ago, and already it’s twice my height. The last few seasons it has been producing pinecones, which dangle high in its upper boughs like rustic ornaments on a Christmas tree. There, in the whorls of a pinecone, is the past and future encompassed in one spectacular package of nature, the only producer of perfection in this wonderful world. 

Pinecones personify the start of fall, and in a full-circle moment they also come into play at the end of winter. Soon, the grass will turn green, the debris will be raked up, and the stark canvass of spring will be reborn. The expanse of promise…

When the mind is filled with a winter of worries, the only thing to do is don a fancy coat and hold your head up. As we careen toward the start of spring, I find that a certain winter weariness has set in – the opposite of the energy and excitement I typically feel at this time of the year. Maybe I’m just tired out, from everything. It isn’t that I’ve been going all that hard – I just haven’t given my head the break it needs, despite the day meditation. 

The block of ice in the pool is still intact – one large, continuous piece that has only started to recede from the edges, still thick and impenetrable and foreboding. To look at it makes one feel that spring is far away. The snowbank by the driveway is also hanging on – a triangular patch like the tip of an iceberg. In the backyard, the earliest of our perennials, a stalwart Hellebore that has been with us since we moved into the house twenty years ago, is still matted down with a wet blanket of oak leaves. It went largely unprotected by any substantial snow cover for the bulk of the winter, and doesn’t look like it held onto many of its usually-otherwise-evergreen leaves. That’s not a bad thing – such cleansing is necessary for a bigger crop of fresh leaves and flowers come the warmer weather. It also makes my job a little easier – I find myself having a difficult time being so ruthless to anything green so early in the season even if removing the tattered live would do the plant a greater good. 

So begins a Friday that’s predicted to be warm and sunny. This is the switch of the seasons.  Ambivalence and hesitancy and a full moon. 

Easter candy is too pretty for my belt’s safety. Take these malted milk balls in pastel form – such prettiness demands to be devoured, first by the eyes then by the mouth, and they spill onto the tongue with such ease they should come with a warning. It’s so cruel to time the season of Lent with the season of such sweetness.

Yet another one of Catholicism’s little fuck-overs.

Monday arrived, and in the depressing aftermath of a wonderful weekend with friends and family, I spent most of the day in the attic, listening to Tibetan flute music and reacquainting myself with the drudgery of the work week – the way almost every Monday has gone for the past two decades. As I responded to e-mails and reviewed postings that had come to an end, I heard the muffled calls of birds outside the window. Turning the music down, I paused in the work day, taking a few slower breaths, and listening to the birds. 

It was the sound of spring, and the birds had changed their music from lamenting winter to celebrating something on the way. Their birdsong was more cheerful, anticipatory rather than reflective, and I got up from the desk and moved to the window. I unlocked and lifted it, feeling the release of a winter spent mostly closed. The birdsong carried inside, along with a light breeze that gave the merest hint of warmth – the delicate whisper of spring. 

As a tried and true Virgo it pains me to say this, but sometimes the best weekends are unplanned and unstructured, especially when a snowstorm and the tail-end of an upstate New York winter are involved. JoAnn was scheduled to join us for a weekend of hygge when our cousin Tyler and his partner Kevin asked if we were available to host them for a night. Our home has always operated on the age-old adage of the-more-the-merrier, at least in pre-COVID days, so I added some extra food into the loose plan, and filled the house with spring flowers to combat the forecasted winter storm. 

In the fateful way destiny sometimes has of working things out, JoAnn arrived just minutes before Kevin and Tyler’s plane landed. For their arrival, I managed to tie everything up in a rosemary-festooned flavor palette, with a white bean rosemary dip that went with our pomegranate rosemary mocktails and cocktails. 

We eased into a Friday afternoon with the warmth and bonhomie of good friends that were also family, widening the circle as we set up for a dinner of a Moroccan vegetable tagine, some kimchi fried rice, and (my only cutting-corners move) a package of vegetable samosas from Trader Joe’s. Dessert was a Filipino babinka of sorts, and by the end of the night we were filled and satiated and sleepy. 

The next morning the world was completely white again, covered by snow, with more blowing and falling as the morning went on. I put together a quick, impromptu loaf of banana bread which filled the kitchen with its sweet aroma. We let it cook for the bare minimum then scarfed it down. Hygge comfort food to start the lazy day.

With any and all planned outings made impossible by the storm, we had fun and hilarity without doing much of anything other than hanging out and eating. JoAnn and I pursued some catalogs and books. Tyler, Kevin and Andy watched a few movies. In between we all talked and grazed on a charcuterie board that we somehow conjured from what was in the fridge. I also found a frozen batch of lumpia I’d made earlier in the winter, which we hastened to fry up and serve. 

Before we knew it was cocktail hour, and I recreated one of the most infamous creations that has rocked this house: the Amber Jewel. (The first time I made this for JoAnn and her entourage, we never made it past the entry room, and the rest of that weekend went by in a quick blur. I believe it was April and some of us went skinny-dipping before the pool had even been officially opened, but the rest has been intentionally erased from my brain.) On this day, Tyler and Kevin tried out the alcoholic version, while JoAnn and I had an Amber Jewel mocktail which still managed to bring back the memories.

A large pot of squash, mushroom, carrot and bok choy soup simmered on the stove top, while I boiled a batch of udon noodles for a hygge-like dinner. Andy did a quick baked ziti dish, and there was still some babinka left for dessert. As the kitchen filled with the scents of comfort food and the sound of laughter, we assembled at the dining room table for a Saturday evening meal. Somehow the day had passed pleasantly, and at times riotously, without us even leaving the house. 

Outside, the snow had finally stopped falling, while the plows made their reassuring groans as they passed and pushed the snow out of the way. Evening was at hand, and on the last night before the clocks pushed ahead, the blue descent of the bewitching hours lent our indoor sanctuary additional coziness. 

It passed too quickly, the way all unplanned moments of serendipity do, yet we were all somehow present for it, mindful of the magic at hand, embracing the moment, and each other, while the outside world still shook its clenched fists with winter rage. With love and family, we would not be bothered by it. 

The next morning we brushed JoAnn’s car off, and she was on her way, but not before sowing a few seeds of summer promise with the possibility of a Cape getaway. That Josie magic works its own wonders, weaving that tapestry of human heart-threads, and reminding us that the best of friends become our chosen family.  

Kevin and Tyler took Andy and I out for a lunch at Koto, as Kevin had never had The Koto Experience before, and it was right on the way to the airport. A bittersweet last hour together before they returned to Baltimore, and the promise to meet again soon. 

It will be spring in a few weeks, and the season of travel will ensue. A very happy thought, to close out a very happy weekend. 

Anyone can dazzle with enough glitter and feathers – it takes a truly talented artist to dazzle with words. Chuck Miller does just that, and where his words leave off, his photography takes over. Together, they compile a body of work that is layered with complexity, beauty and wisdom, all working in tandem to earn him this Dazzler of the Day feature. Miller has been a fixture on the Albany scene for years, and he was an integral part of the Times Union blogger scene back when it mattered. Luckily for us, he continues writing on his ‘Chuck the Writer’ blog (while also having written several books) and his award-winning photography is enchanting whenever and wherever it appears. For me, he’ll be a hero for posting these choice words for a certain Florida governor, but he’s been a champion for all people, especially those who don’t always have a voice. That he lends such eloquence and artistry to such expression is why he’s the Dazzler of the Day. (Glimpse a bit of his Pi Day writing below, then check out his site for the rest.)

Coming off a winter weekend with good friends and family, in which we found ourselves homebound and cozy, but still managed to lose an hour, is a conundrum entirely unfit for a wintry Monday morning. Instead, we shall take our usual look back at the week that came before, and eventually I’ll do a little write-up of all the fun we just had. 

A certain Times Union writer sent out a dishonest newsletter claiming I ended our friendship over Chick-fil-A, and only managed to soil her credibility in the process. (More on that later…)

Tea for taking time. 

Burning candle question.

Poking through.

Tulips on a Wednesday.

A post I very much did not want to write. 

Flowers of the sun.

All pretty, no prick.

Tough to chew, tough to swallow.

Social media society.

The contrary person.

Come back another time, we’re busy.

End of winter wonderland. 

Say what we will about the annoyance and agitation that any and all snowstorms may conjure at this point in the season, this recent snowfall was nothing short of spectacular, especially in the way the snow clung to all the branches and the wind left everything alone to be seen the following morning. On that day, my commute became a thing of wonder, and I was reminded of how beautifully haunting winter can be. That beauty was spellbinding, and it stilled the morning in the best way. Many times nature will lead one into mindfulness, forcing us to pause and take in the moment.

Here, in the hushed air of winter, when wind has decided to join the silence and put down its , we find the makings of mindfulness, I think of the Buddhist monks who can meditate in the snowy mountains of Tibet, seemingly unaffected and unbothered by the cold or precipitation, calmly finding their focus, generating all the heat they need in their breath and serenity.

We are busy hosting a few lovely guests this weekend.

Come back another time.