zird is the word (lizardek) wrote,
zird is the word

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Spring springity spring, spring! Sproing! Little dandelions have jumped up out of nowhere, the grass has sun freckles. The sky is a pure, peerless turquoise, but from the window I can see wispy cirrus clouds stealing over from the west. Our little garden out front is exploding, too. The lewisia and columbine are up, the stonecrop is coming, the sedum is rounded and shining. Pink and purple flowers already standing high from the polka-dotted-leafed plant whose name I can never remember. Anders and Martin were playing frisbee earlier but it's too windy for that, really.

Mom is making humpke soup, a recipe my father learned when we lived in Belgium that became a family favorite. I haven't had it since well before he died. We made apple-cinnamon muffins for a brunch tomorrow, so the whole house smells like goodness and sunshine. John and Martin are rasslin' in the playroom, Karin is using Anders as a jungle gym. Mom is resting now, reading my friend Chuck's book, she's been chuckling to herself several times already. I'm halfway through Donna Tartt's The Little Friend.

We've got company coming for dinner, an easy meal: soup, salad, bread to dunk. Hopefully an evening walk in the late sunshine although my foot's been paining me today. The house is resounding with laughter and conversation. My cold seems to be finally done.

Good times.
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