"Our daughter is famous, Helen. You're the only person who doesn't know it."

It’s sort of like Christmas Eve right now – not a creature stirring.  Actually, I think that’s the only way it’s like Christmas Eve.  There’s no tree inside of the house, no decorations, no wrapped packages.  Today is just a typical “first Saturday of Spring.”  Of course it isn’t completely devoid of expectation – I’ve got two boys who are waiting to find out which baseball teams they are going to be on.

 

Anyone else "Pottering" about the garden today?

Today got here just like every other “first Saturday of Spring” and I expect that if I’m patient, there will be a next “first Saturday of Spring.”  I can’t have them all at once.  I can’t get a “first Saturday of Spring” in December.  I have to wait.  I have to go through each day to get there.  Once it’s finally come I am free to enjoy it – which I shall – but then I’ll have to work my way through to the next one.  No shortcuts.  No easy way forward, or back.

This “first Saturday of Spring” I’m writing (before everyone is up and I start in on the yard).  I expect I will be writing next year too.  Putting in the time, practicing, waiting, working – and with thousands more pages under my belt.