Spring in England

I telephoned my Mother in the UK yesterday morning, and she sounded rather "blue". When I enquired about her state of mind, she said, "well, this winter has been unusually long, cold and dark, and I am getting tired of looking out my living-room window at the dripping trees and the dark, cloudy skies." I commiserated with her, and asked her if there were no signs in the garden yet of Spring. She responded quickly, and with the first hint of vibrancy in her voice, that - indeed, there was a sign. Under the apple tree outside her window, she had seen that morning, what she thought was a pile of snow left over from the last snowfall a week or so ago. Upon closer examination, though, she realized that it was not snow at all, but a great drift of Snowdrops! She was so excited to tell me all about these harbingers of Spring, and to remind me that every year, they increase and that this year, maybe because of the cold winter, there were more than ever!

While I enjoy being in Florida for the winters now, it was brought home to me yesterday as I spoke with my Mother, how important the seasons are to our appreciation of the constancy of nature. Without Winter, how would we appreciate and long for Spring? Without the "dog days" of Summer, how would we otherwise revel in those beautiful cool mornings and evenings of a Fall day? Having lived most of my life in the northern part of the northern hemisphere, I am programmed to respond to the changing length of days and of the different weathers which accompany the seasons as they turn everlastingly. I know that I could never live in a one-season location, like Florida and I am always very happy to return North and have the pleasure of arriving home in time to see my bulbs poke through the ground, and the leaves unfurl in their bright green colours. So, while I will continue to soak up the sunshine here in Florida until mid-April, it will be with great excitement and anticipation that I will head North and run to my garden to see how many spring bulbs are showing above ground.

"When I'm old and grey"

"When I'm old and grey" - a well-worn phrase known to everyone, but not taken seriously by everyone! Suddenly, in my life, "when I'm old and grey" has become ..."Now, I'm old and grey", and it is quite a shock to my system! I actually have refused to accept it.

All my life (and I am in my mid-sixties now) I have considered myself relatively "young" or at least, "young at heart", and never really considered the day when, to my surprise, age has caught up with me, and although I may feel young, my body tells me otherwise. I have struggled in a big way with the fact that I have to actually admit there are certain things I used to do, that I cannot do anymore; skiing, playing competitive tennis, mountain hiking, and a few other strenuous sports/activities that I used to really enjoy. I am not giving up, not at all; I am just being realistic in my expectations.

My knees are "shot" as they say - from a ski accident many years ago, and from general wear and tear, plus inherited genes. My most strenuous activity nowadays is walking 2 miles in the mornings, here in Florida, and exercising in the swimming pool. I am not by any means lazy or prone to giving up - no, quite the opposite in fact. I am determined that my body and my brain are going to continue being fully functional until I am well into my 90's. I have longevity in my genes - my Mother (90) and my maternal grandmother (96 at her death) are proof that genetically, I am programmed to be around for at least another 25 years! Those 25 years are going to be years of productivity - not decline. I have a great, great many plans for my next 25 years. My husband and I have a dream of a large country house in the Okanagan Valley where we intend to grow an apple orchard and a small vinyard; have a house that will take as many grandchildren as we may be lucky enough to acquire, and for me, a garden that I can use all my powers of imagination on. I intend to be as mentally bright as my Mother is today at 90 years of age, as physically active as I can possibly be (no walkers, no canes, no aides of any kind) and as interesting and humourous as it is possible to be at an advanced age. I never want my grandchildren to dismiss me as the grandmother who is "just my Nana". I want them to talk about me the way my children talk about my Mother - interesting, fun, vibrant, full of life, in touch, cool. What a testimony from one's grandchildren!

"Senior citizen", "geriatric", "ageing person", are words that will not be in MY lexicon for a long, long time to come, even though I am now "old and grey".

A Rose by any other name......

I love observing people. Sometimes I make up stories about their lives, just to amuse myself. I also give them "names" which suit their personalities or looks, and over the course of a few months here in Florida, sitting at the swimming pool, I have privately, and quietly, given many of the residents names.

Such as "Ritalin Man" - the retired firefighter from Ohio who talks so fast that I defy anyone to understand a full sentence. When he moves it is at light speed with jerky movements of his arms and legs, and he seems unable to sit still for any length of time. His poor wife never says a word!

Then, there is "The Terrorist" - a rather large lady, Russian emigre, retired, from Chicago, who talks non-stop on her cell phone and sounds like a spy! She has flaming red hair, lips to match, smokes with a cigarette holder and portable ash-tray, and generally completely confuses the Americans. They mostly distrust her.

"The Mole" is the president of our condo board and, as most here would agree, is a generally bad-tempered person who rarely comes out of his dwelling. He walks with a cane, if and when he does come outside, and blinks rapidly into the sunlight, just like a mole emerging from its tunnel.

"The Webbed One" is sight to behold. She is a very large, white (i.e. not tanned) lady from Boston, who comes to the pool daily and "exercises" in the water with large, blue, rubber dumbells and brightly coloured, webbed gloves on her hands to help her swim! She is very bossy, and tries (without success) to organize everyone into doing things they don't want to do. Her husband, retired Boston cop, is the most bigoted person I have every met.

"Dracula" is a nice, retired trucker from New Jersey, who eschews sunlight at all costs. He comes to the pool with his wife, but sits under an umbrella in the darkest corner of the pool reading his New York Times. He is evidently happiest when darkness falls and he can walk around the complex without dodging into the shadows of the palm trees all the time to avoid the sunlight.

"Prince Philip" is a rather sad, old Italian man, who walks 10 paces behind his much younger wife, and sits alone, contemplating his navel. His wife, also Italian, has a sharp tongue, no sympathy for her "prince" whatsoever, and is not terribly friendly to anyone.

Last, but not least, we have "Thelma and Louise" - two very old ladies who both live here full-time. One is 92, swims every single day and rules the pool with an iron fist. She has also been named the "pool Gestapo", but together, she and her friend, the sweet Jewish lady of 88 from New York, make up the team of Thelma and Louise. Today, their conversation went like this...
Ruth: "Paula, you need to come in the pool"
Paula: " I don't want to come in the pool, I have things to do"
Ruth: "You are not listening to me"
Paula: "I listened to you all day yesterday. I am not coming in the pool"......

I am sure there will be more names to hand out in the next weeks as the place fills up with "Snowbirds" - the name given to the Northerners who seek the sunshine in Florida every winter.