My first little iris is blooming. What a cheerful welcome this morning. I hear it is 30 degrees below zero back east. That was normal growing up in Quebec. 30 degrees below zero was not on the news back then. It was just January. Freezing one’s ears was a thing in Quebec. Painful. My ears are still sensitive to the cold.

Back to the Iris. What is it about a little flower popping open that brings such awe on a cold winter morning? I feel such gratitude for a hit of purple and yellow amongst the black loam. I bought some primroses at the store today. I said to the cashier. “It is so exciting to see flowers for sale again.” She said, “don’t get your hopes up.” “Winter is not over yet.” My hopes are always up. Do I need to wait for spring to be hopeful? Do I need to wait for good weather for me to feel fulfilled? I sure hopenot.

It feels good to be here. My house is cold when I get up. 49 degrees this morning. I put the kettle on and make a fire first thing. It is colder than 49 outside when I get the kindling from the porch. Especially with bare legs and slippers. I wish I would remember to bring the wood in the night before, but I never do. What bliss it is, once the fire is roaring, to sit in front of the woodstove with a cup of steaming tea. I sit for a few minutes, cat in my lap, then get on with my writing. This is my morning ritual. Tea, writing, sitting.

Things move faster after that. Feed the animals, get dressed and head for the gym. Get home, change into something really warm, and to head to the studio. I try not to get lured by something shiny that may distract me before I get there.

I started the Master Gardener program this week. How exciting is that? Some people are one pointed and focused. I am a multipotentialite. I love that word. I learned it awhile back and so resonate. Here is a definition. “A multipotentialite is someone with many interests and creative pursuits.”

 I am a person of many passions. Painting and art are number one. Then there are the horses and dogs and my little cat. There are friends and family who are dear to me. Writing stories and brainstorming about potential creative pursuits. Plants, both domestic and wild, medicinal and fragrant. Those that attract bees and butterflies and those that attract me. And of course, the ones that taste good and bring nourishment the year through.

I get bored quickly with any one task, so working in 30-minute increments is perfect. Except painting. Painting happens in 120-minute increments.

Enough about my habits. Back to the iris.

There is a pause that is taken when I gaze at this marvelous little flower. For a moment, nothing else matters. There is no to-do list, no 30-minute interval and no timeline. There is just a little flower enjoying the sunshine. Nothing else matters.