Haiku for spring

Suddenly, leaves appear,

tips on branches. Blink, and you 

miss spring beginning.

New Harmony in the Spring

On the grounds of the New Harmony Inn.  We always stay in a room facing the pond.

When Marilyn and I want to get away to somewhere quiet and peaceful, we head south to New Harmony, Indiana.  Sometimes, we stop for ice cream or pizza in one of the small eastern Illinois towns on our way.  Driving on, we predict when we will round the turn and encounter rows of bright green John Deere tractors available for sale.  Then we know we are getting closer.  We look forward to entering the familiar, sleepy, historic small town of New Harmony--population 850--where we always stay at the New Harmony Inn and always eat at least one meal at the Red Geranium Restaurant. The predictability is soothing.  

On March 21, as spring break began, we headed south again.

We found out that New Harmony is celebrating its bicentennial, and the weekend we were there, there was a "spring fling" with artists and other vendors in the small downtown.  "There are people on the street!" I exclaimed, laughing, as we walked around in the cold sunshine on Saturday.This brochure shows a design that incorporates the labyrinth, a landmark of this town founded by Utopians in the nineteenth century.

 

To show you how small the town is, I'm including the enlargement of the town center, which has the flashing stoplight marked prominently.  As we drove around when we first arrived on Friday evening, we were the only car in the town center, other than the Sheriff's patrol car parked on the corner.  Once we arrive, we don't drive either.  We can get everywhere we want to on foot.

This photo was taken in the small, round chapel off of the Great Room where breakfast is served.  Even when the Great Room is full of conversation and clatter, this chapel feels like a place for meditation.

Just outside the chapel, we encountered this piece, which we coveted for our backyard. Art like this is scattered all around New Harmony.

  

This was carved into the back of a bench outside the town post office.  I love writing and receiving letters, so I had to photograph this.

We saw our first daffodils of the season!

I love the red door and white walls of this church.  (These are also the colors of our house).

This log house, next to the Red Geranium Restaurant, was built in 1814 and restored in 1959-60.

On Saturday afternoon, as the sun streamed into the Great Room of the Entry House, Marilyn worked on a quilt while I finished knitting the hat I had begun in January. 

We saw more signs of spring on our walk around the pond on Sunday morning.

Poetry can be found around New Harmony, too.  This was along a trail.  Auden wrote, "The trees encountered on a country street/Reveal a lot about a country's soul./A culture is no better than its woods." 

This is "Shalev: Angel of Compassion" by Tobi Kahn.  It is made of South Dakota granite and bronze.  In the distance, you can see the Wabash River.

Before we left town on Sunday afternoon, we walked the labyrinth.  These are our shadows.

February Afternoon in Meadowbrook Park

On the Sunday of Valentine's weekend, Marilyn and I took a walk in Meadowbrook Park.  While I, too, look forward to the spring, that walk reminded me again how breathtakingly beautiful the snow is. Despite the below-freezing temperatures, I took my gloves off again and again to take these pictures of the prairie in the snow.  They seem like a good way to close out this snowy February (though I hear we will be getting snow again as March gets going). 

Snapshots of Winter

This winter, the weather has been the story: sub-zero temperatures alternating with frequent snow falls. We joke that 20 degrees Fahrenheit feels warm. The snow cover makes an otherwise dark time of year feel blinding at times. Nothing feels "average."  

Last night, as the local news announced yet another winter weather advisory, I said to Marilyn, "They probably have that recorded and just play it every three days."  

Today, our college, which rarely has a snow day, closed at 1 p.m. because the travel conditions were deteriorating.  

All through this remarkable winter, I have been taking photos.  Here are some of them.

Over MLK weekend last month, we went to Chicago for three nights, to rest, to get away, to read in a quiet room in the bustle of the city. We arrived just as the snow began on Friday night.

 

                 This was our view on Saturday morning.

On Saturday, we walked around in the slushy cold with ice chips flying at our faces  As we ate lunch, we smiled at the snow outside the window, happy not to be driving.  By afternoon, the snow was heavy.  

We finally made it to the Museum of Contemporary Art because it was close to our hotel.  We laughed as we trudged through snow to get there and were wary as we looked up the long flight if stairs leading to the museum entrance. This photo and the next two were taken after we had made it inside.

Back home again, I woke to this sunrise on a weekday morning.

I laughed when I saw this sign as I drove home from downtown on a recent  Saturday morning.  The temps were in the single digits.  I was wearing long johns again--long johns that I used to wear a few times a year but which I have had to wear several times a week this winter.  Still, it was a reminder that summer will come.

On Valentine's Day, Marilyn left this plant for me on my desk at work.  It made me think of our rose bush in the back garden, of walking along the path lined with ajuga and daisies.  Yes, summer will come.

In the meantime, staying inside means plenty of time for knitting.  I recently went on a retreat where I learned to cable.  This is the hat I'm making now, one of the few things I knit that I will keep for myself.  I look forward to working on it every evening.

A Reflection on the New Year

Rilke once wrote, "And now let us welcome the New Year full of things that have never been." I often stamped that quote on New Year's cards, finding in it an open and optimistic message. After the tragedies of last year, Rilke's words now seem almost ominous. What will this year bring that has never been, and how will we and those we love survive it? 

So far this year--and it is only four days old--Marilyn has had the stomach flu, and I have felt unable to get warm some days.  Starting tomorrow, the temperatures are going to fall again--to the coldest the Midwest has seen in decades. 

This afternoon, though, we had a respite. The sun came out, and the temperature was a relatively balmy 32°. I took a walk.

I listened to the rhythm of my boots thumping on the sidewalk, crunching through the snow.  As always, walking steadied me.  

Nearly home, I looked down at the snow and saw this leaf. For some reason, its beauty gives me hope.  

The Comforts of Snow

Last weekend, as I finished up grading final papers and exams, the snow began to fall. That last stage of the semester is a kind of turning inward anyway; the snow made me feel even more like I was tucked into a quiet place where I could focus just on the task in front of me, instead of juggling the many that usually confront me.

During breaks from grading, Marilyn and I watched one of our favorite movies, White Christmas.

These photos were taken on Saturday morning from inside our house.

Early the next week, after I had submitted final grades and the sun had come out again, I went for a walk in the neighborhood.

Towards equality

On November 20, Governor Quinn signed into law the bill that will bring marriage equality to Illinois. On June 1, 2014, three years after our civil union, eight years after our commitment ceremony, and fifteen years into our relationship, Marilyn and I will be able to apply for a marriage license as a same-sex couple. We will finally be treated as equals in our own state.  And the federal government will recognize our marriage, too.

I feel a range of emotions when I think of this progress: relief and joy that we have come this far; anger that the struggle existed at all, that my fellow citizens took this long to decide we are worthy; and sadness for those who died before this new law, leaving behind survivors who were never recognized as family by the state, and therefore will never receive the financial benefits.

Overall, though, November was a month to celebrate progress towards equality.  Below is a series of photos that chronicles the celebration.

On Tuesday, November 5, Marilyn and I followed the Illinois House debate online, looking for updates.  That afternoon, I was getting ready to grade papers and had just ordered a decaf Americano at the neighborhood coffee shop when this text from Marilyn came through: my first--and I hope, only, proposal of marriage.  It was all so exciting, I wanted to tell someone.  But I wasn't sure of the barista's views, so I didn't say anything while still at the counter.  In minutes, though, I was online, sharing the joy with friends.

This graphic was all over Facebook, and soon it was my profile photo.

Marilyn had said that morning, "If the bill passes, we have to have wedding cake."  That evening, she went to the bakery that had designed our commitment ceremony cake, a towering affair, and got this "wedding white" cake.  The proprietor, who recognized Marilyn, offered to write on it.  When I posted this photo on Facebook, we received dozens of messages of congratulations.

This was the front page of our local paper the next morning. It's striking how a newspaper headline can make progress seem more real.  

The Unitarian Universalist (UU) church we belong to had a celebration that weekend.  I took these cookies--quartered because they were so large--to the rainbow-themed potluck at the church.  

This was the cake made by the organizers of the celebration, who are among those who have lobbied for equal rights for gays and lesbians.  We feel so fortunate to belong to a church that works proactively for justice and equality.

When the newspaper did a story on the local response, our minister was interviewed and was on the front page.

The altar decorations that Sunday celebrated the marriage equality victory.  This is the sanctuary where we had our commitment ceremony in 2006.

Those are candles of joy and concern, lit silently during the service.  One of the few spoken joys submitted that day was about the bill being passed.

It's official.  And still a little amazing.