I forgot the name of this blog. Is that a sign that it’s been too long? Apologies to anyone who noticed. Am still here, 100%. And happy.

Good thing I name everything after candyjars. For what reason? So I thought of candyjar.org, and then I thought candyjar creations…no, something with a c…. chronicles! Of course. Silly me.

For fun, here is my most recent card, she’s gone ‘diva.’

Last week, they began having picnics in our backyard. We would wake up to a giant pile of trash—which they’d dragged over from the restaurant across the street—all scattered across the lawn. They love that spot in the corner. In the trees. One morning we saw one of them scampering away in the early dawn.

In the middle of the night, the dog woke us up and scratched the door. This was weird. This time of year, he doesn’t go out at night. Usually. He seems to know there are creatures out, and he’s a big boy — he can hold it. Still, we thought perhaps he had a tummy ache, so I opened the door for him, and he raced across the yard, barking a deep-growly bark that I’d never heard. Apparently, he was trying to scare the bear away. In the meantime, I yelped his name, and T leapt out of bed, and we bumped heads in a moment of chaos. T ended up with a big blood blister, poor fellow, but the dog came bounding back in one piece, scared out of his wits. He was the only one who got to see Mr. Bear up close.

The city told us there are two ‘275ers’ and one ‘400′ in town. We aren’t sure which one(s) have invaded our back yard, but I’m determined to get a photo before the summer ends…

I’ve never believed in any eating methods that deny you cheese and chocolate. I am not sure how I ended up agreeing to that whole RAW food thing. Something about my yoga teacher. Somehow. Some belief that not consuming dairy or fat or caffeine would cleanse the system and mind and spirit and let the soul blossom in the fresh, pure air. The idea of refreshing a being was just so terrific, so tempting…

Certainly, this morning, after three days of vegetables, I did so enjoy that latte and home-baked bun, a new beginning of its own. And, alas, raw food or not, there are other beginnings, sprouting up all around,  yellow and blue and white and purple… The first round of flowers. I can’t help but feel this inside, as though petals are spreading, tender, delicate, opening to let the sun bring out their colors….

1. Quit my job.
2. Leapt around in a state of euphoria.
3. Felt anxiousness and loss at what will be gone: my salary, health insurance, Internet, computer, phone, identity as a working person.
4. Waffle between step two and three, again and again.
5. I’m not there yet. I hope it’s good.

…has gone by.

I promised I wouldn’t write anything until I had something other than snow to complain about. Or something to not complain about. I was inspired Monday, but that’s because Monday it snowed. Yes, Monday, May 4th.

But now it is Wednesday and not snowing and 60 degrees and I am not complaining. I am terrifically and madly and marvelously inspired to announce the spring. She is here! The ground is now peppered with spots of green, emerging from the damp depths of the long winter, the landscape is scattered with tiny miracles. Little crocuses are trying to pop their heads up, to peek at the sunshine. Even the collapsed aspen in our yard has risen from the dead! Poor little dear was flat on the ground when the heavy snow melted around it, but in only a few days, it has begun to lift, and lift, and now it stands, the burden of cold wetness no longer holding it down.

Meanwhile, it is impossible not to feel this same merriment taking place in town, the smiles at the post office, the jovial faces on the patio. T-shirts! Flip-flops! We have finally freed our closets!

The sky turned red orange on Friday afternoon. For several hours. What is it? we mused at the grocery store.

The world is coming to an end, they told us.

It’s a fire, we decided. (I surrendered my idea of breath-taking sunset when I realized it was only 4:30).

Apparently, a neighbor explained, it was actually sand, blowing over from Utah. This proved true the next day, when the snow — all over the town and the mountain — was coated with red brown gook.

This made interesting snow conditions for the last day of the season (yesterday). It was a little like skiing on dirt, but not too bad, and the whole town was there for the party anyway.

Particularly one long-haired fellow, who was skiing naked (with a small cloth covering his front side). He’d just gone down the North Face, and apparently gone down, since he had an enormous strawberry covering his whole right butt cheek.

Shivering on the chair lift (it was cold), we discussed this wound with two rowdy strangers. His girlfriend probably painted that on him, for effect, one of them said. That thing was too brutal.

No dude, said the other. It was real.

Just to clarify…. it’s not exactly ugly out here.

… asks my sister, from Jackson Hole, WY.

It is snowing well, yes indeed, snowing and snowing and snowing. The roof continues to avalanche, the snow plows continue to rumble, the snow blowers contine to grumble, the snow shovelers get richer, Clarissa tries not to sulk.

Tim brought tulips, which have restored my faith in spring. It’s out there somewhere, it will come here someday.  I will see the dirt, again…! the ground… !

Wait, I’m having deja vu… You’d think, given how rarely I write, I could at least think of a new topic. My apologies. Is snow news is better than no news?

Two years ago I saw a call for submissions on Craigslist: a book for 20-something struggles. I was struggling.  I wrote a scrappy essay. Then I spent the afternoon taking artsy black and white pictures of a broken egg in the sunshine. Um, yes. I did. I do these things, sometimes. Don’t ask why. I can’t remember if I ate the egg afterward. I was pretty hungry in those days. But I had stuck my finger in it to make the eggshell just right, and to change the shape of the goop so it caught the flicker of light. Eating the egg would be kind of gross, after all that  poking.

I’m a little embarrassed.

And now, I’m told, the essay and/or the picture are in this book: Quarter Passed. Gulp. Who knows what it looks like, this embryo of my youth.

Yes it’s beautiful and snowy and fresh and fun (sledding! skiing! snow-shoeing!). But I have had enough. I want flowers, I want sunshine, I want lemonade!

I have just realized that winter is almost half the year in this little town. That is a long time. A too-long time. I am looking at the crusty snow out my window, which is taller than I am, and wondering if there really is grass under all that, or if perhaps I just imagined it. Sigh. At least, can it warm up a little? My bones are achy, I’m an old lady.