Confused

Much like other animals, I’m a creature that uses cues in the environment to shape my reality. I didn’t realize until this year how strongly those cues influenced my thinking, and how disconcerting it can be when the cues give you a false positive. For example, when someone says summer, I feel just a little happier inside.  Not only do I prefer warmer temperatures, but I’m a teacher, so summer also heralds a temporary furlough, albeit usually for another classroom or curriculum writing or professional development classes.  Likewise, when I see flowers like the larkspur or poppy featured here, I equate those blooms with early June.  And then there’s the air temperature, which is very June like, but the calendar says March 5.

So what’s a gal to do when larkspur appears in late February/early March, and mention of the word summer is accompanied with a voice heavy with dread?  Yes, I know the seasons are not the same around the world, but to have them all jumbled up seems worse than if they were completely different.  I tried to explain to my class this week that we in the Midwest look forward to summer because of the harsh, never ending cold we endure in the winter.  They weren’t buying it, and dire warnings were once more administered about a Rajasthan summer.  “You won’t be able to do anything, just nothing, wait and see, it’s so hot in May and June.” and “You’ll be wishing you were back in December quite soon.” [Uh, I doubt it, because when it was cold and there was no central heat, THAT was my own personal torture.] I decided just to enjoy these beautiful days where the highs are the 80s and the lows are the 60s, because it sounds like it’s going to get ugly here soon, and stay that way.  That, and I’m planning a June trip to the hill stations in the northern states, where the nights are cool and the days feature the sun and a breeze.  The British may have done some really stupid things when they were here, but running off to cooler climes in the summer wasn’t one of them.

Back on the home front, daughter #2 sent this photo yesterday; 3 deer making their home in my back garden.  S. and I always thought it would be the raccoons who would be the first to make their move to take over our premises, so we’re surprised the deer are showing some spine.  Just as in Godfather II, you’re never sure who is going to make a move to take over, but you have to admire the person who has the nerve. As long as they are gone by the time the flowers they are lying on come out of the ground, they can provide the pastoral scene. 

Finally, today I saw a kingfisher in our backyard and got a good “click” of it.  Their beaks are incredibly long, and their colors are outstanding.  As some of you may know, the kingfisher is ubiquitous enough here to be featured on one beer label and a now-defunct airline.  The peacock beat it out for national bird honors, though.  It’s hard to compete with the peacock’s tail plumage plus the funny bobby-pin-like things on their heads.