Buying Time

Calendars are a quick and easy way to add visual interest around the house or office. When I travel, calendars for the next year are often what I choose to bring home for a souvenir of the country or state visited. My family have been calendar givers at Christmas, from the bank calendar we gave to my grandmother every year, to the Far Side editions that I've given to my kids. Once the year is over, wall calendars make great images for a picture file which I often use in exercises at retreats and workshops.
Of course, being thrifty, I often wait until January when the calendars go on sale for half-price to add to my "stock". During the last year, as part of living simply and trying to limit aquisitions and spending - besides having little need for calendar keeping during sabbatical! - I avoided buying any calendars. Then came April and the realization I would be working again, and all of sudden, I had to pay attention to dates and days and times and planning.
Was it too late to purchase a 2007 datebook or a waste to buy a calendar that would remain 25% unused? Or too early for an academic year edition which would begin in September? Never fear, publishers have determined that there is a market for procrastinators!
On a browse through the bookstore, I discovered 16 month calendars which began with March of the current year and goes through August of the next - just perfect for a one-year interim beginning in May. Does this mean there is a market for 16 month calendars that begin every three months? An extension of individualization? Or will software and PDA's rule our time-keeping completely?

So long flannel and fleece

April is looming on the calendar at the end of this week, a sunrise of light cast on the receding winter.
Unfamiliar warmth greets the early morning - 59 when I woke at 7 am with the day zipping along toward a repeat of yesterday's 70. The sliding door to the balconey is wide open, along with all the windows.
The woods across the way are roaring with the sound of the tree peeps. The sun is gaining strength, giving rise to the aroma of baking wood and asphalt. Overnight we've peeled off coats, jackets and sweaters, feeling suddenly light-bodied in only one layer of shirt sleeves
That does it! Spring officially begins today in my life with the stripping of flannel sheets from my bed, subjecting them to the machinations of washer and dryer. Soon they'll be stashed at the bottom of the stack to await another season of cold nights. While I'm at it, I'll wash the the fleece throws on the couch, and start culling the heaviest of my sweaters from the drawers and the winteriest of clothes from the closet, to make room for the lighter and brighter in my wardrobe.
OK, so April's appearance on the calendar is no protection from winter making a guest appearance in Wisconsin, but we're far enough into the change of seasons that its grasp is likely to give way rather quickly. At least that's what I'd like to think.
Today I'm going to enjoy sun and warmth and the sureness of spring to blossom in my life as well as the world outside. Think I'll buy a bouquet of daffodils today.

Neighbors

The blue tarps are gone.
One of the first things I do in the morning is pull back the blinds at the sliding doors in my living room. I love light. I need light, lots of it. I picked this particular second floor apartment because of its view to the west of sky and trees and geese flying pond to pond.
Of course, I also have a view of the building across the parking lot, identical to the one in which I live. So when I sit on my couch, I look through the sliding glass doors and the railing of my balconey to the windows and balconeys of the other apartments. I'm aware when lights are on or off, when shades are open or closed, when patio furniture is moved. To not notice, I would have to keep my blinds closed.
So, of course I noticed when the folks directly across from me covered their patio furniture with tarps on a cold day last fall when winter's first snow appeared likely in the weather forecasts. Bright blue glossy tarps tied down with ropes were an affront to the weathered wood of the railing and the natural grays and tans of the rock exterior of the building.
The tarps were also sensible protection against the wet and cold of the winter months. We have indeed had plenty of wet and cold the past few months. Weeks at a stretch when the thermometer barely budged above zero. Snow storms following snow storms with some helfty wind gusts thrown in for good measure. For almost two weeks, there has been a snow drift on my balconey that was more than 2 feet deep. The weather began to warm over the weekend, the sun was shining brightly, and by Tuesday, the snow had melted.
Wednesday the tarps were gone.
Today I noticed that my neighbor was gone.
At the top of the stairs in this end of the building is a small landing with just enough room for the doors to three apartments. When I came home this afternoon, hoses from a carpet cleaning truck snaked up the stairway through the open doorway of a now empty apartment. I have no idea when my neighbor moved out. Of course, I never knew his name, never had a conversation with him. Our paths rarely crossed. I couldn't help but hear his footsteps on the stairway that shares a wall with my living room. I never did figure out what kind of schedule he was keeping. Was he a student? Did he work shifts? Was he staying at his girlfriend's house part of the time? I did notice her coming and going a few times.
How did I not notice that he had moved out? After all, I work at home and spend most of my time here.
What a contrast to the way I moved in. Dozens of trips with a van full of boxes and furniture, augmented by a couple loads in a pickup and trailer.
Now, I wonder, will I notice when I have a neighbor?