Delights: February 26 to March 4

February 26: I could have stayed on the larger roads; instead I selected a narrow winding way that more resembled a paved path than an actual street. Pines hugged roadside ditches, which cautioned prudence. As I slowly made my way, I passed tiny old churches, tiny old houses and tiny old patches of fenced land. Whatever hustle and bustle animated the nearby highway had bypassed this parcel of creek, fields and woods. The road itself became my destination. I’ll come here again.

February 27: Dodging raindrops I darted in and out of stores in a charming Maryland town. In one of the town’s antique centers, I saw a dad and three young children peering intently into a jewelry case. “She might like this,” the dad said. Fifteen minutes later, in another antique store, I saw them again, clustered around the cashier watching as their purchase was wrapped in tissue. “Here you go, sir,” said the cashier as she handed the small package to the four-year old boy. As they left, I heard the little boy exclaim to his dad, “That lady called me sir!”

The side of a building in Berlin, Maryland.

February 28: Our Sunday afternoon walk was washed out, but certainly not our post-walk beer. (I had to walk to the refrigerator, right?) With her deck dripping, my friend looked tentative and asked, “Should we just sit in the garage?” So we positioned camping chairs near the open air and watched the rain sluice down trees, streets and driveways. Someday, we’ll be snug in her living room or kitchen — and I’ll miss the feisty resourcefulness that forced us into a garage under blankets on a rainy February afternoon.

A view from the edge of Kathy’s garage.

March 1: I walked through an old part of town that offered buildings from the last three centuries. The 18th century houses listed a little and snuggled tight and small in rows. The 19th century storefronts stood bold and varied as they boasted 21st century commerce. The early 20th century waterfront factory offered its two story windows to art studios. And at last I stood in front of what I immediately saw to be a converted fire house. My eyes traveled up from the garage door to the second-story brick festoons, to the stair-step peak, and on to the demilune at the top where the date would be: 1872? 1893? With pride and confidence of her place in history, the builder truthfully inscribed “1998.”

March 2: I was chopping onions in the chilly sunroom, wearing a mask. (Don’t ask why.) I chopped and chopped, shivering a bit. Eventually I carried a tidy stack of onions to the soup pot — and then it hit me: my eyes didn’t sting, my nose was sniffle-free and I had no symptoms of Acute Cutting Onion Syndrome. I assure you: even after COVID, I will keep a sturdy mask near my cutting board and fresh air blowing around me.

Working boats in West Ocean City, Maryland, delivering fresh Atlantic scallops.

March 3: I phoned a man last.week who might make an improvement to our house. He apologized for missing my first call: “I was on the phone with my son. He’s a cowboy.” Today, the man showed me photos of his three sons. One son owns a dinner theatre circus troupe, and his photo shows a top hat-and-mustache impresario. Another son, with springs for feet, performs acrobatics at half-time Washington Wizards shows. And the cowboy leads hunters on horseback through twelve hours of Colorado beauty to distant camps. The last photo he showed me was the four of them together, giving no indication of any of that. And so I thought: what one thing — ordinary to us but wonderful to others — does each of us do that a photo never shows? Is it our famous cake? Our choir soprano? Keen film analysis? A perfect wave caught perfectly and ridden to shore?

March 4: The sun came out today, so I crept from under my rock to absorb a bit of light and warmth (having forgotten both). I dallied over lunch. Almost a mile away, a church bell released a single chime. One o’clock. And all is well.

Readers, if you’d like to browse my past essays, consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands… To receive notifications by email each time I make a post, just scroll all the way down this page (next to the “word cloud”), look to the left and click on the black button that says “Join Me!” 

A year ago, I enjoyed this glimpse of a garden at Prana Del Mar, Mexico.

11 thoughts on “Delights: February 26 to March 4

  1. Ryan, Anne M - (anneryan) March 4, 2021 — 9:20 pm

    I especially love your Feb.26 entry. I can imagine it all! Thank you!!!!???

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    1. Thank you so much, Anne. I’m glad I evoked some of this haunting scenery for you. I wish I could take photos: I’ve been tempted, but the winding road and perilous ditches just won’t permit. So I had to sharpen my memory and pencil instead. I love having you along for the ride!


  2. I loved your 27th Feb post – that wee boy must have been so happy! Always enjoy your summary of the week posts.


    1. I’m so glad you liked it. After overhearing him, I went back to the cashier to let her know. She was delighted too!


  3. I always love your daily delights. This week’s, especially, made me smile!


    1. Hi, Jessica. It’s so nice to hear from you. I hope you are well. You comment certainly delights me! Please stay in touch.


  4. Nice post, Carol! You notice the little (but nonetheless important) things going on around you wherever you go. Your post inspires me to do the same.


    1. Thank you for your note, Steve. I do find myself noticing a lot more each day: a camellia bloom, blowing ornamental grass greetings, even a fresh spring smell. Share yours with me!


      1. Today I noticed two squirrels in my backyard, chasing, wrestling and teasing one another, and having a lot of fun. They reminded me of my childhood when my brothers and I would do the same.


      2. I love this, Steve! Thank you. I can picture both scenes very easily! Keep sharing… 🙂


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