It’s a different kind of spring than we have ever experienced before, at least different from any I can recall. We are all feeling overly anxious, sad, bored, really too many emotions to understand or control. Let’s all take a deep breath and just for the next few minutes think of the memories of springs from our past.
Spring has always given me a sense of hope, new beginnings, being on the cusp of freedom. Summer meant freedom, freedom from school and, in later years, work. Spring smelled fresh. The beautiful flowers in my grandmother’s garden bloomed and the weather now permitted laundry to hang outside where it soaked in the warmth of the day and the fragrance of sunshine. The house was given a good airing out and all the heavy drapes and carpets of winter were stored away and replaced with lighter materials.
The most prominent symbol that spring had arrived was the return of St. Mary to the garden. Pop-Pop would crawl into the shed and unwrap her from a nest of newspapers and Hefty bags and sit her in a place of honor on the birdbath.
As the days grew warmer my family and I would begin to gather in the side yard instead of the living room. The television set was replaced by our books or knitting or cards. We’d sit in companionable silence as Mom read, Nana crocheted and I played card games with Pop-Pop. Dad’s attention was usually fixed on Rikki our dog. Rikki, a Boxer, had been bought with Dad’s first paycheck from the Baltimore City Police Department. He was a good dog and would sit for hours while Dad brushed and groomed him.
When I think of spring, theses are the days I remember. The scent of Hyacinth sends me to that yard and once again I’m on the side steps next to my Pop-Pop. These last few weeks have been challenging and it seems a few more are in our future. Keep your good memories close at hand and pull them out as needed. Close your eyes and roll out your private home movies. Spring still means hope. 
But long ago in a kingdom called South Baltimore I was given a small heart of chocolates every year on Valentine’s Day. Dad would go to the Rheb’s stand in Lexington Market, where he did all his shopping, and buy hearts for his favorite girls. Mom would receive the largest heart, the top of the satin box covered in ruffles and bows. To his own mother, my Nana, he would give a more conservative box, deep red and no frills. My box was small and held four pieces of chocolate. The heart box was red trimmed in gold and the words Be Mine or Valentine was usually printed across the top.
Scenes From A Baltimore Kitchen 