Crooning the
Homesick Blues
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I woke up homesick. I want real
weather, I said to myself. I’ll take any distraction to keep myself from
dealing with the deeper problem. Weather, indeed. Tip of my iceberg.
Winter’s never been my favorite
season. But spring came early to Montana this year. (The computer is a great
tool.) I don’t trust an early spring. Nevertheless, I daydream warm Chinook
winds, tulips and iris shooting sprouts through the sun-drenched ground, lilacs
nursing baby buds through the changeable days.
Ah, changeable. That is the key
word. Montana days are so very changeable. I might grind my teeth when a warm
morning segues to forty mile winds with black skies and hail by noon. But such
a morning is exciting. Energizing. Dreadful.
Every winter day on the Pacific
coast in central Mexico is predictable. Sunshine and eighty-two degrees. Oh,
sure, some mornings the sky is overcast but the foggy clouds burn off
mid-morning leaving sunshine and eighty-two degrees.
And the Mazatlan sky is blue. Beautiful,
boring one-shade blue. Step outside and look around at the magnificent Montana
sky. There are uncountable shades of blues and grays and purples and often
unimaginable colors and clouds in the panoramic bowl of sky. I miss my sky.
So forgive me for thinking I caused (homesick
effect syndrome) the wonderful rainstorm yesterday. I geared up for my morning
walk, stepped out the door to thunder, cumulus clouds to the south, black sky
to the north and rumbles and grumbles overhead. I don’t mind getting wet. But I
am daunted by lightning. Postponed my walk, brewed coffee and enjoyed the
cleansing, refreshing pounding, river in the street, gutter washing rain.
Homesick means I missed the Montana
Seed Show, my favorite annual social event. I miss my friends and neighbors.
The art exhibits. The pie and bread bake-offs. The wool exhibits. Umoh, my
friend from Helena with her baskets, the banquet, the art exhibits and quilts.
People milling about, greeting, catching up on family news, renewing old acquaintances,
standing in line to choose another piece of home-baked apple or chocolate or
lemon meringue pie in the cafeteria. I miss the snow and ice and wind and cold
and dripping boots and wet wool coats. I’m homesick.
I was supposed to be there. I had planned
to be there. Back in December I bought plane tickets. March and April, Montana
and Seattle. Family. Friends. Grandchildren. Havre Atrium. Border Bar. Driver’s
license renewal. Pinochle with friends. Favorite stops in Harlem, Chinook,
Havre and Great Falls. Montana Seed Show. Amtrak from Havre to Seattle. I
scheduled it all. The tickets are on my
desk, staring me in the face. Ah, the real issue.
What I never planned was the
unexpected. I never planned hip-replacement surgery. That’s not totally true; I
thought maybe late fall would be a good time. When pain reached critical mass
and x-rays told the truth, opportunity reset my calendar. At the time, I asked my
doctor if I would be able to travel in March. Probably, I was told.
Surgery was successful and therapy
began. Again, I asked about travel in March. Well, you may, but . . . Both my
surgeon and my physical therapy doctor agreed that it would be best for me to
wait.
Snowbirds are heading north one by
one, along with other migratory critters. Ted leaves next week. Don and Dorothy
leave the following week. Frank will be around another couple weeks before he
leaves. All my gringo neighbors soon abandon me.
So my now-cancelled tickets haunt me
homesick. I’ll come for summer. I’ll stay longer. Today I’m singing the “wanna hop
a jet plane to the north of the border, wool socks and snowstorms, freeze my
tootsies blues”.
Weather today in Mazatlan: Sunshine
and eighty-two degrees.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
March 19,
2015
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