For all my complaining yesterday about gloom and Mondays and tornado sirens, Tuesday came along and made amends for the dour day we had yesterday.
It’s beautiful out there. We started with a cold morning and a thick frost but by lunchtime, the temperature had climbed up to 50 degrees, the sun was shining and the first crocuses were blooming in my garden.
There’s something definite about seeing the first flower of spring bloom. It’s just like the first snowfall of winter- you know it’s welcoming you into the season and there will be much more to come. The daffodils will follow the crocuses and the tulips won’t be far behind and, from then on, it’ll be flower after flower as spring unfolds and gives way to summer.
If you haven’t noticed, I’m huge on the changing of the seasons. I find it fantastic how there are four such different parts of the year. When the season change approaches, I grow impatient. The only exception to this is spring moving into summer. I’d be much more content if late spring just stuck around and went straight into autumn. I’m not a creature of summer. It’s not a season of beaches and swimming pools to me, of family cookouts and long days. To me, it’s a season of mosquitoes, humidity and searing heat.
It’s funny. When I read that, I realize that I sound just like my mother. Except her negativity is towards winter, not summer. She’d take searing heat, humidity and mosquitoes any day over snow and ice, cold and wind. I find that slightly fascinating. We’re very much alike but also different.
It’s actually funny how we grow up and become more like our parents than we ever imagined. It’s something we fight in our younger days. As teenagers when we have vicious fights with our parents, we swear we’ll NEVER be like them.
Then, as time passes, life happens and we realize that not only are we more like them than we’d like to admit but, also, we’re pretty proud of that fact.
There are times when I’m not always happy that I’m like my dad in some ways. Sometimes, it’s not necessarily a good thing. While we inherit the good qualities of my parents, we also inherit the bad. I think the trick is knowing that and being aware of when you’re channeling your mum and dad and NOT in a good way.
It’s definitely a generational thing. I can see my grandparents in both of my parents. My mum acts quite a lot like her mum some days and that’s just plain amusing. It’s funny to see her get snippy when I suggest it even though she knows I’m right. My dad acts like his mother a lot too but he doesn’t always have quite the same humour about it.
Either way, it’s refreshing to know that into each generation, a little bit of the generation before exists. I like that notion. It’s like a chance to improve on what’s already good and work on the stuff that needs to be improved. We can fight it but there will always be a little bit of our parents and ancestors in us.
It’s actually a lot like I said the other day in my blog about my dogs. They’ve been raised in suburbia and spoiled rotten and yet their instincts to hunt, disappear down rabbit holes and try to capture prey in just part of them. From the dachshunds that were bred to hunt, generations later, my girls still have that need in them even though they were never taught or even raised in an environment that cultivated that.
For me, it just means I have to block a lot of holes such as underneath the tool shed and the propane tank. I also have to deal with a lot of holes being dug in the garden. As spring moves in with full force, I intend to use those holes to plant trees in my garden. It’s nice of the girls to help even if that wasn’t their intention. I can’t change their nature just like I can’t pretend I’m not a product of both my parents.
Although neither of them is terribly fond of snow so I’m not sure where that came from.
That must be all me. Maybe that will be what gets passed to the next generation. Who knows?
Happy first day of March and Have a great Wednesday!