The rope of beads wound around my grandmother’s wrinkled hand, while the cross swung with the gentle rocking of her chair. She worried each one between her fingers as she said each prayer, then moved on to the next. It seemed an endless chain of recitation to my childish mind, but I assumed it was another adult mystery that would be revealed in time. I didn’t know that there was no answer for this, no magic moment that suddenly made sense of faith and religion. Instead, I did my best to believe, even if the drudgery of saying an entire rosary was beyond my comprehension or capability.

The ritual seemed to calm her. Maybe that was how it worked. It was a form of meditation, and, when you get right down to it, what else is prayer at its most basic essence? The words eventually ran into one another, the meaning but gleaned, and by that point it was simply a matter of a mantra, a chant, a rhythm of speech, a cadence of sounds. The calm and soothing drone of a river of words ~ whispered prayers ~ and an outwardly peaceful disposition belying a raging heart.

No one’s ever going to believe that I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, so I won’t even pretend to peddle that bullshit here. I’ll never be that guy. I’ll never be that simple, that casual, that easy-going – it’s just not in my make-up. There are too many facets and angles to this frustratingly-complex mess. But every now and then it’s good to strip it all down, so to speak, and indulge in the basics. There are far fewer components to worry about in an outfit like this – no worries of mismatched ties or faulty sock decisions, no striped suit patterns possibly clashing with checkered shirt options. It is the default uniform of the current generation – and given the growing propensity younger people seem to have for sweatpants and other atrocities, a good pair of denim jeans is indeed a dress-up outfit when paired with a smart sport coat, shirt, and tie.

As for its ubiquitous nature, there’s no getting around that. I could deal with a little more blending into mainstream society anyway, so this affords a nice change of pace. As the musical Norma Desmond once sang, “I can play any role.”

At the time of this writing, Boston is under threat of a winter storm walloping (it will likely have already arrived by the time this gets posted), so I must admit to being glad of not being there right now. Just a few short days ago I captured this promising bush in bud in the Boston Public Garden, where witch hazel was also on the verge of blooming, the willows were gaining in their chartreuse color, and the pond was being worked on for its near-future filling. It was a scene of possibility, the earliest peek at the spring to come, and it made me happy to see. There are good memories in that Garden.

As for our own gardens, they are still mostly buried in snow – lots and lots of dirty snow. I made the first pass through the backyard yesterday, when a pair of cardinals was calling out to me. Loads of bunny droppings were scattered generously throughout the space, a boon to the soil, I hope – but the ground remained frozen. Not one sign of snowdrops or Scilla, or even the tattered foliage of the Lenten rose. It’s late arriving, but spring is assuredly on the way. It has to be.

As the sun sets, and the afternoon advances, the bedroom changes. A stirring beneath the duvet, a flickering of dust in the slanting sunlight, a reluctant sigh. The luxury of an hour or so beneath the sun should not be so quickly dismissed. It can feed the soul, and match more complicated and costly methods of calm. Now that the days are growing longer, there are more opportunities to find such pockets of tranquility.

Having had a day job for most of my adult life, I never take such moments for granted. Beauty like this gets me through the day. The memory of it sustains until a new memory can be made. It is the promise of possibility.

Typically I post a recap in this time slot, something whereby those who had better things to do than check this site every day might have another chance to witness what has already passed. Given this gigantic winter recap from yesterday, it’s definitely too soon to do another. I will, however point out a couple of posts that weren’t quite done when that big recap was written.

The first is this epic Madonna Timeline: ‘Like A Prayer.’ I tried to take you there.

And the second is this review of the amazing production of ‘Gypsy, A Musical Fable’ currently showing off at the Capital Repertory Theatre.

Both are wordy and verbose enough to quell the man-candy complaints (not that there have ever been complaints against the men – just my exploitation of them.)

Seeing as how I spent the weekend in Boston, and a pretty quiet and peaceful one at that, I’m taking it easy this week, blog-wise. As the seasons turn, my attention will turn elsewhere as well, and that path leads outside, and away from the laptop. The winter has bound us long enough.