Morning

The first Saturday morning of spring was spent with a rake in hand, a wheelbarrow nearby.  Our yard has a considerable lawn, and is surrounded by trees.  Winter has left behind it’s quotient of small branches, twigs, and leaves under shrubbery.  Raking these left overs, feeling the pulsations of the rake tines upon the tan grass thatch seemed as if that was destiny for me individually, on the first day of spring.  Beneath the surface, below the detritus of last summer’s dead thatch, roots are responding to the warmth of longer days, gathering nourishment to produce green shoots, new life.  Raking and removing the dead leaves and twigs of the past fall, it seemed as if I was giving the earth a back rub, — just when it was most needed.

A bit later in the morning I took a short drive to Lowe’s.  I purchased nineteen bulbs of Oriental Lily’s.  The perennials will be a magnificent backdrop to the yard when planted along the creek bank.  I will plant the bulbs today.

Afternoon

Drove to Geneva, which is just a few minutes north along the Fox River.  I planned sitting for a while in the sunshine in front of the old courthouse, in order to read.  I enjoy reading in public, almost as if reading is a silent visible statement of resistance.  Read if you want to have a mind!  Otherwise join with everyone else in a search for mindless, or worse, mind-numbing entertainment. With a cellphone at hand you are never more than moments away, a swipe or two from inane cat videos, or snarky, narcissistic face book posts by your “friends.”  Thinking is a matter of time and an uncluttered mind.

On a bench with the monument looming above me that commemorates past generations of Kane County youth who volunteered to fight in the War Between the States in 1860 -1865, the Spanish American War, etc, etc. — I settled in to read from Caste authored by Isabel Wilkerson.  Caste is the account of another war, slavery’s continuing echo, the predation of the white ruling class upon Blacks, and other citizens of color.  (Slavery is the quaint term for human trafficking) I sat and read for an hour, impressed with the authors elegant prose, the nightmarish description of a psychological disease absorbed by every child along with it’s mother’s milk.  Caucasians reach adulthood indoctrinated in subtle ways to be beneficiaries of the American Dream.  “White is right.”   Blacks, on the other hand… Words fail me to describe the life long misery, the defrauding of the majority of our Black citizens.  “If you are Black, step back.” These anticipations of dominance and subservience are rooted deep in the psyche, generation after generation.  Slavery is in the rear view mirror.  The attitudes of the slave master are not.  You ought to read Caste by Isabel Wilkerson.

Evening

I joined my wife in a darkened living room, to find that she was viewing the 1958 film Cat On a Hot Tin Roof starring Elizabeth Taylor, Paul Newman, and Burl Ives.  I’d never seen the film so I settled in.  The Tennessee William’s story is of a dysfunctional Mississippi family, a family troubled with the consequences of great wealth, too many possessions, too much alcohol, and a scarcity of love.  The story line revealed that they collectively never knew how to care for one another.  This is a cautionary tale.  “Do not allow this to happen to you.”  The family patriarch “Big Daddy” at last receives the results from his medical exam, that he has inoperable cancer, with but a short time to live.  The disruption that his departure will effect naturally calls to surface the inner demons of every family member.  Dante’s inferno American style.  The movie is about wealth, football, mortality, and what happens when we become caricatures of ourselves.  You must see this film.

I should add that on this first evening of spring, we opened a mason jar of hooch, received from another family member as a Christmas gift.  Fill a glass with crushed ice, and pour the lemon flavored liquid level with the ice.  The libation did not disappoint.