Equinox of Bluster

The first day of spring ends with a white coverlet of snow once again tucked o'er the land. It was raining this afternoon. "Oh, well, at least it's not snowing," I said. Then the rain started falling suspiciously slowly. Then it was unmistakably snow. "Oh, well, it probably won't stick." But it did. Oh, well, it won't be there for long . . .

This morning, the Sparrowhawk had an appointment to get a small cavity filled. He also needed blood work done at the lab, as did I, so we thought we'd get up early and go together, before breakfast. We stayed up a little late, so we got up a little late, and had to rush off without showers. The hospital is doing a huge construction project, so the easy parking near the lab is now a great big hole in the ground, and I don't even know where the entrance to the other parking structure is. I dropped the Sparrowhawk off, went around the block and down the hill and found a lucky spot on the street, then huffed back up the hill to the lab. After they punctured us, we walked back down to the car, but we only had a few minutes till he was due at the dentist, so I dropped him off and went to Starbucks. Tron had given me an e-card for a coffee drink back when we were doing Grandmother's last hospitalization, and I never got to use it, so I enjoyed a Latte of Love from Tron while waiting for the Sparrowhawk to get his tooth fixed. I was not displeased with all the huffing around because it gave me a chance to actually do something helpful for the Sparrowhawk.

I finished Time's Convert and quite liked it, although as I said before, it's an oddly constructed book, half All About Vampires and half alternate historical trip through revolutionary times in America and France. My favorite thing about it is actually all of the Thomas Paine quotes. He appears in cameo a couple of times. I'm hoping the book is a place-holder that will serve as a bridge to another story about Matthew de Clermont, Diana, and their children.

I'm trying to settle on a Next Book. Meanwhile, I picked On the Road with Francis of Assisi, by Linda Bird Francke, off my shelf and started reading it. This was one of the last books I ever gave my father. For some reason, I thought he liked St. Francis. Also, after the war, he went to Switzerland on a scholarship, met up with some of his GI buddies, and walked across Italy. So I thought he might find the travel aspects interesting. He was sitting in his chair in the living room, where he spent most of his latter years, surrounded by archaeological strata of books and journals. He accepted the book, thanked me, and said "I'll read this later." Then he put it aside on one of the stacks. It came to me then that he would never read it. I had been forestalling the knowledge of his failing powers, but never till then did I realize that he had come to the end of his ability to read. It was so much a part of him, like breathing. I wanted to run out the door and cry, but I smiled and pretended that I believed him. I got the book back when we cleaned out their house, but I've never read it. Even now I'm not sure I can get on with it, though it is interesting. I've learned that Francis was only five feet three. Such a tiny little man, and yet so much fire in his heart. It's astonishing that he lived to be forty-five. I know he's been declared a saint, is famous, considered a remarkable person, much above my pay grade, etc. but I just feel sorry for him. So much suffering--and why? I just don't get it. I don't know why my father had to suffer, either. It sucks. I suppose this is why I'll never be a saint!

We re-watched "Infinity War" in preparation for the arrival of "Endgame." It's a tragedy from beginning to end. I enjoyed it more the first time because I didn't understand just how hopeless the entire enterprise was. Guys, you're DOOMED. We're all doomed. Again, too much suffering. I have to find myself some happy stories, even if their optimism is completely spurious.