Gen. Beauregard Lee [is the] Official Weather Prognosticator for the state of Georgia. He lives on the Yellow River Game Ranch near Lilburn, Georgia, in a miniature Southern mansion called “Weathering Heights.” He is lured out with a bowl of hash browns.
                        from: The Groundhog Day Book of Facts and Fun
                                                          written by Wendie Old
                                                  Illustrated by Paige Billin-Frye
                                          Albert Whitman and Company, 2004
 
       Last Spring I discovered a groundhog helping itself to my garden. Last Summer my husband relocated it. It was living under my kitchen and after cleaning up my whole garden except for the tomatoes, it dined on my side lawn. We did not want to kill the hog, just encourage it to live somewhere else. I looked for easy ideas on Google (where else would a retired children’s librarian try first?!) and found many plausible suggestions. The one my husband tried involved spraying around the hole with sudsy ammonia. The spray would not harm the groundhog, but it would not like the smell. After lots and lots of applications, we did not see the groundhog anymore. I kept a few really cute pictures of it, though.
       Groundhog Day comes every February 2. Most people around the Midwest and especially Pennsylvania know that. I’m always surprised to find out some people have never heard of Groundhog Day. This happens much less since the 1993 Bill Murry/Andie MacDowell movie. But still.
       My younger daughter married her husband on Groundhog Day in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania in 2005. It was a beautiful, blue, cloudless day. The high reached 17 degrees.
       The festivities began early. We caught the loop bus at 5:00 a. m. and danced till the sun finally came up. Most of the families on both sides came. We all had a grand time! Fireworks set to music started around 7:00. The choreography was amazing!
       Then it was time to wake up Phil and find out when spring would arrive. We all hoped for a cloudy day to portend the coming of an early spring, but no such luck. Phil saw his shadow that morning and got scared. He ran back to his den, predicting six more weeks of Winter.  We basked in the cold sunshine, anticipating a wedding. I don’t remember if Phil was correct that year. Most times he isn’t, but Spring always arrives.
       After a luncheon reception, everyone left to go back home.
       What a memorable couple of days. (Groundhog Day that year was on a Wednesday.)  Once-in-lifetime works for me, but of course my daughter and her family want to go back. They almost did a couple of years ago, but the weather didn’t co-operate.
       Thirteen years, three grandchildren, two cats, and a bunny rabbit later, my husband and I will celebrate with them again. Of course, even at their home, the festivities start early, but I can’t think of a better way to start the day than with an anniversary celebration!
       Marking time is important. I just heard a snippet on the radio that February 2 is also known as Candlemas. So I investigated and found out that it occurs half-way between the Winter Solstice, when we experience the least amount of daylight and the Vernal Equinox, the time of equal amounts of daylight and darkness. The Gaelic festival of Imbolc and the feast day of St. Brigit (Candlemas) and Groundhog Day mark the same event!
       All the groundhogs around here are still fast asleep. Even the one that moved from under my kitchen to under my neighbor’s porch. Oh, maybe that was a different one. They all look pretty much alike to me!
                            Happy Groundhog Day!
                                                                   --stay curious!
 

     It’s easy to get lost in the vastness of the night and the land, even in your head.
                                                       from Hour of the Bees
                                                               by Lindsay Eager
                                                                Candlewick, 2016
 
       My dad used to tell me I’d get lost backing out of the driveway. He was right. We lived in a Cleveland, Ohio suburb and sometimes I’d have to travel pretty far for an appointment or a meeting. Dad was always ready for a ride-along. He’d tell me where to turn and I’d get to pick out where we’d go for lunch. Perfect. Until I moved away.
       Part of my problem involves paying attention. Part of my problem is that I don’t picture where I am in space very well. I may have gone to Bed, Bath, and Beyond a hundred times, but I’m still not sure whether it's past Home Depot or if that means I’ve gone too far.
       I pay lots more attention now and still blow past places I’m supposed to be. But that’s little stuff I can fix. My dentist’s office is in my GPS. It’s in a house in a neighborhood and I got tired of passing it up -- in both directions -- a few times -- before I got there.
       We have a beautiful park system in our county. A 20-mile creek is the centerpiece. The park itself is full of interesting bridges, roads, and hiking paths. It includes three lakes and several waterfalls and sometimes a playground with a merry-go-round.
       Of course, that playground was my girls’ favorite. I’d bundle them up in the car, make sure we had plenty of gas, and head out.
       I always found the park. I couldn’t always find the playground. When we drove around long enough for me to reach my frustration level, I’d tell the girls the playground was not in the park today. I’m not too sure the girls believed me. They were disappointed. So was I. Mostly I was disappointed in myself. I rationalized that the roads wound around. Many side roads led to others and others.      
       I always found my way out of the park. We’d go to a smaller one, closer to home and have a good enough time.
       On bad days, I wonder what might have happened if I never found my way out.
      Long ago, I was in such a bad place that I really *was* lost. I knew where I was in space. I knew how to get where I needed to go, but I felt like I was in the bottom of a dark, cold well. I could only think of one way out and although it was not a good way, the ultimate way out felt like a good enough way. I got the help I needed. 
       To avoid getting lost we can learn to read a map, ask for help, or use a navigation system. And pay attention. That really is key.
       To avoid being lost is much harder. We have to always be grateful for everything: trees, clean water, sunshine, rain, snow, cool breezes, warm breezes, warm houses, the ability to use language, being allowed to vote, to laugh, to sing. . .you get the idea. We have to remember what is important. We have to stay connected to family and friends.
        Although I usually think of the world on a sliding scale between black and white, good and bad, left and right, rather than as true opposites, here’s something to think about. What is the opposite of lost? confident? aware? I know it's greater than "found."  
                                                                  --stay curious! 

     When his mother gave him a microscope, he used it to look at flowers, raindrops, and blades of grass. Best of all he used it to look at snow[flakes]. Their intricate patterns were even more beautiful than he imagined. He expected to find whole flakes that were the same, that were copies of each other. But he never did.
                                                      from: Snowflake Bentley
                                                    by Jacqueline Briggs Martin
                                                    illustrated by Mary Azarian
                                                           Houghton Mifflin, 1998
                                                                Caldecott Winner
 
       All of Winter is white. Fresh snow, clouds so thick the sky is white with them. My breath is a cloud, too, on those cold, cold mornings when I have to go outside.
       Here in the midst of winter, lawns and lakes and park paths are blanketed in inches and inches of snow. The air smells fresh right after a new snow. And it really is quieter. Light, fluffy snow absorbs sound. Even an inch makes a difference, but more snow means more quiet.
        So while the snow itself reflects light, making the world brighter, it absorbs sound making the world quieter.
        All snowflakes have six sides forming the crystal, but each formation is different. Its size as it arranges itself into the hexagonal molecule, how fast it falls through the cloud, the cloud’s temperature and humidity, and the path the crystal takes through the cloud all determine the snowflake’s final shape.
        Wilson “Snowflake” Bentley (2/9/1865 - 12/23/1931) was fascinated by each snowflake’s individuality. He took thousands and thousands of photographs of snowflakes. He made it his life’s work to study them and share what he learned with the rest of the world.
        Every snowflake just like every person is unique. Some of us like snow, some of us don’t. It is estimated that about half the earth’s population has never even seen snow.
        Some of us are athletic and some are not very good at moving through space.
        Some of us are word wizards and some of us struggle to say what we mean.
        Some of us always find the silver lining around a dark cloud and some of us concentrate on the cloud itself.
        But whether we are helping others or are in need of help ourselves, we all need each other. Now maybe more than ever, it is important to "be there" for our friends and strangers, too.
 
        Here’s a Youtube site you can click on to see a snowflake slideshow. Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIbPQUdwnKw
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

           . . .and no more parents meant no more green beans for dinner. Ever.
          “Hooray!” shouted Martha.
          She threw her plate of cold green beans right out the window.
          Then she grabbed a box of cookies and settled on the couch to watch her favorite movies long past her bedtime.
           Martha was happy.
           But not really.
                 from How Martha Saved Her Family From Green Beans
                                                   written by David LaRochelle
                                                    illustrated by Mark Fearing
                                                                          Dial, 2013
       On soft, lazy days I’m comfortable in my habits. I don’t really want any new ones.
       But on those days close to the New Year, especially, I’m more open to self-improvement. I don’t need another resolution or intension or idea. I need a goal that becomes a habit. And that means work.
       Great ideas make it onto my to-do list, but they don’t always get checked off in the “did” column.
       Uncleaned closets are still on the list. So are unmade phone calls to old friends, un-deleted e-mails, and daily exercise. Maybe I should intend to sporadically exercise! That’s something I could sometimes complete.
       Intensions are serious for some people. I admire them. Resolutions can be effective, but, most of mine have fallen by the wayside, only to be re-resolved on the first day of Spring, or my birthday.
       I’ve paved many roads to hell with my not-carried-through intensions.
       What has worked best for me is to set a goal and follow the SMART plan to follow through. My daughter first told me about it, and I used it at my work. Then it popped up again at a Weight Watcher’s meeting not too long ago.
       Basically a goal needs to be:
Specific
Measurable
Achievable
Reasonable
Timely
       This year, I’ll focus on my writing.
       I’ll work on a project for at least 30 minutes every day.
It is specific.
I will measure it.
I can do it.
It is reasonable.
I have till the end of each day to accomplish my goal.
       What if I don’t meet this daily goal?
       I’ll decide about consequences another day! For now, I’ll work on my new habit.                                                                                                                                                                                                                           --stay curious!

I can rig up my bell
With my big ball of string.
My mother will come
When she hears the bell ring.
 
And THEN she will see
How I say in my bed
With my strings,
And my things,
And my cold in the head!
                                                      from A Big Ball of String
                                     written and illustrated by Marion Holland
                                                 Random/Beginner Books, 1958
 
       John Lennon said it: Then all the world will live as one.
       Raffi said it: One light, one sun, one sun lighting everyone.
       Connections are everywhere.
       Some visible, some invisible. Some steel, some gossamer. Some finite, some infinite. Connections are necessary.
       Back in about Fall 1981, I felt small and unimportant and useless. I don’t know why. Attitude, perspective, bad weather maybe. I took myself to my beautiful neighborhood park and sat on the ground under my favorite tree and thought about stuff. Why clouds were so dark. Why birds flew south. Why leaves fall. Why ants march in a line.
       For something to do, I encouraged an ant to march out of its position and onto a fallen leaf. Then I moved it across my lap and planted it by itself, far from its familiar surroundings. It just crawled away. Maybe it didn’t care. Maybe it didn’t even notice. After all how big is an ant brain, anyway?
       But my thoughts changed that afternoon. Less inward and reflective. More outward and curious. Maybe that ant became food for some other hungry insect. Maybe it started a new colony. Maybe it carried some needed pollen to a starving flower. I made a difference, a connection to a much larger biosphere, in a very small way.
       Although I traveled lightly into that forest; I carried no plastic water bottle, no extra sweater, not even a book for distraction or learning, I felt heavy. When I picked up something as light as an ant on a leaf and set it down, and made a difference, I set down my heavy thoughts, too. My connections lightened me.
       Paying attention to my people connections, my spiritual connections, and my garden connections will be this year’s work.
       After all, even if that ant *did* just crawl away, it had an adventure!
                                                                   --stay curious!