The Cusp By Jamie Kirkpatrick

Slowly but surely, this Ice Age is retreating.  Eggman is on high alert for the annual sighting of his favorite red-wing blackbird. Valentine’s Day has come and gone and so has the Christmas tree in our front yard. Every day, there are several more minutes of daylight. We’re even halfway through the Winter Olympics so maybe, just maybe, we’re on the cusp of spring.

“Richard III” opens with the line, “Now is the winter of our discontent.” Is it? I’m not so sure. That was then; this is now: ice and ICE; Pam Bondi’s public melt down on Capitol Hill and her refusal to even look at the Epstein survivors standing behind her; Trump’s cloying narcissism and all the constant chaos that inevitably ensues; Pete Hegseth’s vainglorious and illegal attacks on Senator Mark Kelly; JD Vance’s scowl; even Mrs. Guthrie’s strange and sad disappearance. I don’t know about you, but I think this winter could give Richard III’s gloomy assessment a run for its money. I say, “Bring on spring!”

Last weekend, when I grew weary of watching twenty Scandinavians battle each other in the 30,000 meter cross-country race, or got confused trying to count how many revolutions the Quad God just spun, or tried to understand Curling, I switched channels and headed out to Pebble Beach, that golfing Eden that was bathed in vernal glory. Of course, I realize the Monterey Peninsula is a continent away from us here on the Eastern Shore, but nevertheless, I relished its promise of better days to come and my new knee began to twitch in anticipation of the day when my mates and I can walk out onto the first tee at Chester River and renew our annual Faustian bargain with the golfing gods. What once seemed so distant is now palpably close.

A cusp is the moment of transition bridging two differing states. Astrology loves its cusps—the days when one sign wanes and the next sign waxes. There are also cusps in your teeth and in architecture. Psychology is full of behavioral cusps: the transition from crawling to walking, the moment we use words instead of emotions to express our feelings, learning to read, or the first time we master that most basic element of self-care which is a polite way of saying potty training. Suffice it to say, cusps are all about change, but today, the only cusp I really care about is the one between Richard III’s dreich assessment of that distant winter and Eggman’s imminent reunion with his annual harbinger of spring.

There is, of course, a downside to cusps: they’re transitory, neither fish nor fowl. They are but a dust mote on time’s endless trajectory, meaningless in and of themselves, but necessary to the working out of God’s mysterious and eternal purpose. Without this or that cusp, we would lurch from one season, sign, or developmental stage to the next like a drunk or, worse, one of those mogul skiers making a downhill mockery of my brand new knee. Give me a break! (Sorry, Ms. Vonn!)

All this snow and ice will eventually melt and I’ll find a parking place again. I can feel all the daffodils under my neighbor’s front yard getting pushy. Our poor, overworked heat pump is ready for a long nap. And as for all the political and athletic theater that passes for news these days, I’m on the cusp of turning off my television and going outside to take a nice long walk on my new knee.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” is scheduled for publication next week, but it’s available for pre-order now on Amazon and other platforms. His website is musingjamie.net.