Writings of Constance Ore ( 1937 – 2010 )

The great fable of the ground hog and its shadow sighting announces that there will be six more weeks of winter. Charles says, “I’m not surprised” and I say, “Oh good grief, what utter nonsense!” A cardinal sang out its spring song yesterday morning and I shall choose to go with the wisdom of the red bird of Sanctuary as translated by a desperately winter-weary soul. Charles then related that in his youth the small town in Kansas near his birthplace held an annual “Ground Hog Day’s Supper” at which event mountain oysters were served. I asked immediately, “Did you eat them?” “Can’t remember” he replied, and the whole conversation died with one final “Eeewww” from me.

This weekend we drive to Kansas City where we will attend the musical, “Glorious!” which is about Florence Foster-Jenkins, the woman who thought herself to be the best coloratura soprano in the world. She was in fact remarkably dreadful, but because she had wealth and was a part of the New York social set of the time, she gave recitals at her own charitable functions, finally agreeing to sing at Carnegie Hall to a sold out crowd at the age of seventy-six. Apparently, it was only then that she began to suspect that her attraction was not her beauteous voice – since she died shortly thereafter, it would not have been a great burden to bear. She can be found on YouTube and her music continues to have listeners to this day.

My energy is seeping away again. The last blood transfusion has lasted 49 days and that is good – the not so good part is the growing need for more sleep and rest. Meanwhile, I continue to have high hopes for an early spring, though the snow remains everywhere and the birds are tucking away pounds and pounds of seeds each day because of the low temperatures. Kansas City will not have cherry blossoms and palm trees, but a small winter’s adventure at a few degrees more warmth will be a wonderful change.