My son, 28, calls from London yesterday. I tell my husband afterwards, ‘We are lucky our sons still want to keep in touch so regularly.’

He calls weekly and has since he left home, all through his college days and beyond. He has never come back to live, just to visit. And Shane, now 33, lives close-by and calls more often on his way to work in the city, brightening my day every time. His excitement over fire fighter duties and training, all done on a volunteer basis, fill me with pride and excite me too, though much of it is more dangerous than I’d ever tackle.

So Cory calls and gives us an update of his latest adventures having just returned from a short vacation with his new wife, and a college friend who traveled there to visit them from America. Let’s see, they hit the set where the Harry Potter movie was made, then rode under the English Channel to Paris by train. They rented an apartment for several days near another couple he met last time he backpacked Europe.

They adventured into Disney Land and elsewhere to see the sites. I love hearing about his exploits and find them enthralling vicariously. I won’t fly because I developed phobias during nursing school late in life. No elevators and no planes, thank you very much. I surely would open the emergency door and jump out.

And I’m not sorrowful about this. Cory then asks, ‘So, what’s up with you?’

‘Well, your father just got his bottom set of new teeth!’ I responded thinking how lame, we are excited about dentures? God, fuck, dam, how’d we’d get so old? Yet it is the most exciting thing that happened that day. It will be really great not to have to cook chopped up food for a change.

But I added, ‘Yesterday we spent the afternoon down by the creek.’

Now I know a 28 year old is just being polite listening to what makes us happy. And being creek-side did really make me so happy, intensely content, so content deep within where feelings gone dormant in winter are erupting once again.

I do find it exciting sitting in the warm March sun though the air is still bitter, in the twenties; geese honking and flying all around us as they love our creek in the spring just as much as we do, using it as respite in their travels. The ducks too. And otters or muskrats, long brown and skinny, running over the thin ice that formed over night, playing and chasing each other.

As we sit in the mixture of the sun’s warmth with sharp cold air amidst the ‘excitement’ around us, ice sheeting melts and pops up and down in the water like icebergs, making scraping and gurgling noises, then flowing swiftly down towards the falls. Before the return trip up the meadow to the house, the frozen broken icy surface has disappeared into the dark murky current.

We plod our way back through the mud and snow, filled with the promise of spring, the warmth of sun soaked into our faces, and a settling deep inside that I hold onto, nurturing my winter weary spirit.

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