Springing into spring

Happy Spring! As April begins, so does the month-long celebration of me. I'm a big fan of birthdays and think they should be celebrated. After all, without them, you wouldn't be here!

So every day, for 30 days of April, I do something to honor the fact that I am here and to be grateful for the life I have. It's the little things...

April 1: Chick-fil-A treat. Mmmm. Waffle fries.

April 2: Today's celebration brought to you by the sun, lighting the Earth for billions of years (spent 20 minutes on a park bench near a lake, just being).

April 3: Easter celebration with the fam and dyed Easter eggs with a Hello Kitty(tm) kit, courtesy of Mom.



April 4: Movie day! Feet up and flicks on. "The Dark Knight" for the zillionth time, and a trip to the independent-and-still-around movie store for a nighttime feature film. Ahhhhh.

What's to come? I can't wait to find out!

Ring a ding-a-ling

I checked the car seat. I looked in the cubby between the seats where receipts, pennies and lint go to to die. Under the seats, in the back seat. I stretched my legs straight, pushing my torso closer to the car ceiling, tapped my left and right pockets. Nada.

Where is my cell phone?

I reluctantly went back inside, where my phone must be. Checked the counters, the tables, even the bathroom. Dirty pants pockets, empty, too.

After about 10 minutes, it was time to resort to the Marco Polo approach.

I picked up my land line and called my cell.

Inside you, the time moves and she don't fade.
The ghost in you, she don't fade...

As the Psychedelic Furs ring tone bellowed, I turned behind me and started to walk toward the coats on the wall hook. It seemed to be coming from that direction, until I got closer, anyway. The chorus started again and the sound... was it coming from the right? Following the sound, I walked right, then forward, then right again. Still, no phone in sight.

I called again to restart my favorite group's singing. I turned quickly as the sound again came from behind.

"I've done a complete 360," I thought.

Then I remembered.

Walking through the grocery store parking lot, my mittened hands couldn't hold the pile of id/credit/debit cards, coupons, keys and my phone. I put the keys and the coupons in the left front pocket, the debit and other cards in the right. And for the first time in history, I put my cell phone in my back pocket.

That's right. The call was coming from inside the pants.

Nature's miracle

As the flakes began to fall, I settled in for a long night. It was going to be a big one. There was nothing to do, but wait. And watch.

Some cursed the white falling from the skies. I chose to appreciate the wonder of winter as it piled up on my car and against my sliding glass doors, ensuring I wouldn't get out easily or any time soon.

After almost 24 hours of being at Mother Nature's mercy, the plowmen allowed me to venture out. Slowly. Surely. One block at a time. No more than 20 mph, most often 10 or less. I got to the store. I took the long way home, which took longer than usual. But I didn't mind. After more than a day of gray, the sun had made a late-afternoon appearance. The clouds parted as it set and the sky filled with hues of purple and orange, the likes of which I haven't seen in a long, long time.

You can curse the trouble when it comes or you can observe and not judge, move through and experience, knowing something good will soon appear again on the other side. If you're willing. If you let it happen. It's only natural.

Nerd alert

Call me Hermoine.

A session was left off the schedule for a class I took. When asked if we wanted it put back on the schedule, most of the class voted no and the teacher said he'd get all the information in the remaining sessions.

I objected.

Teacher and I talked. I explained that the course should include all sessions and an administrative mistake shouldn't keep us from getting all we're entitled to. Plus, it's easier to learn material in the proper time. Missing one session makes that more difficult. He explained that he'd take that into account when teaching and testing.

"You know, I've never had a discussion like this," he said. "Most students want less time in class, not more."

"I know," I said. "I want more homework, too."

10

He wasn't here physically when I: earned my bachelor's degree; reached my goal of getting a full-time job in journalism after school; watched the world unravel on Sept. 11; bought 2 new cars; moved three times; picked myself up and dusted myself off to start all over again; attempted only once the famous fried chicken recipe that no one can seem to duplicate; used my inherited Spidey-sense of direction more times than I can count; or started performing high kicks out to the sides of my shopping cart, to accompany my singing, like he did.

But some part of him is always there: when I flip through the recipe book of things he always cooked and computer-made pages he created; when I pump gas and don't spill any on the side of my car like I did the first time he made me do it after getting my license; in the moments I have to do something that makes me nervous and I remember his calm demeanor and "you can do it" attitude towards me; when I look in the mirror and see that same little bump on my left ear and his eyes looking back at me.

3,650 days. Things fade in the rearview mirror. But they'll never disappear.

Slow

A slower pace. It's not a race.

My leisurely drive today brought me face to face with:

the last tree in the park holding on to its leaves, all crimson, the likes of which I'm not sure I've ever seen;

cotton candy pink clouds in the sky at sunset;

a quick red fox, complete with fluffy tail, lollygagging across the road, his eyes glistening as he gazed toward my headlights;

a hug from a friend I wouldn't have run into if I hadn't dawdled around the town square to see the snowflake lights one more time.

Stop. Look around.

Or you'll never know what you're missing.

Smile with a side of sunshine

I tucked my hair behind a headband and sprayed down the fly aways that wouldn't be ignored. I curled my eyelashes, straightened my skirt, brushed a few stray hairs off my shirt and smiled at myself in the mirror.

"Hello." I said. "Helllllllooooo."

This was an important meeting and I was nervous. I knew I looked nice, and I knew I'd do well. But still.

Driving to the appointment, I concentrated on the news being spewed by the radio, the store fronts along the avenue, doors opening and closing with shoppers wandering in and out. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview -- one eyebrow hair decided to go rogue. I smoothed it slowly back in line with the others. This was not the time for individuality, I reminded it.

Once I found a parking space, I popped out of the driver's side, quarter in hand. I figured that would buy me the time needed for my meeting. I slid the silver coin into the meter's slot and started clicking my heels on the cement up the hill to the building where I needed to be. The sun was blazing, and there was only a slight chill in the air.

"You like nice," a voice said behind me. "Nice skirt."

I turned around, surprised, and smiled at the meter reader. "Thank you."

"Just passing on the good karma, hoping it comes back to me," she said.

We walked along a bit together without saying anything.

"Well, I better cross here. And hope I don't get hit," she said, as she started to jaywalk.

"Good luck with that."

"Thanks."

Having forgotten I was nervous for my meeting, I entered the office wearing a big smile. I shook hands with the man I was meeting and introduced myself.

"Nice day you ordered," he said.

"It was the least I could do," I said. "Isn't it just the most beautiful day?"

"Every day."

I agreed.

Journey

Darkness falls and I slip behind the wheel. My favorite time to drive is well after the rush to get home, when the world slips into the comfort of night. The roads empty. No headlights break through the darkness, except mine.

Rolling hills and blackened pastures. Trees overhead and on each side. Misty gray clouds in an otherwise empty dark sky. Yellow stripes reflected a few feet at a time as the new road is revealed to me bit by bit.

This is my solitude. My time to just be. Singing, listening to quiet songs, driving along slowly with no other souls in sight. I rejuvenate.

After a time, I'm ready to head back to the lit streets, the trees replaced by bricks and mortar, my go with the flow stopped by blaring red lights. Stop and start until I'm home.

Tucked in, I close my eyes and begin the journey again in my head. I drift off to sleep not knowing where the road will lead this time.

Light bright

7 p.m.

Like clockwork.

Down the side street to the main thoroughfare.

She leans to the left a bit, as if the weight of her world rests on that side. Tiny, with short blond hair, wearing well-worn sneakers with bike shorts, a t-shirt and a reflective vest. Not grimacing, but not smiling either. She's working, walking, and she's deep in thought.

During the summer, she walked carrying a hand-held fan. Tonight, she wore her usual outfit, but added mittens. Kind of silly, I thought, since you're wearing shorts. But I'll look forward to seeing how the outfit changes as the autumn chill turns to winter's cold.

I've watched her wandering my neighborhood for years now. Seasons, people, circumstances change, but still she remains. Up and down the same streets, in the same order, every single day. On time. I can set my watch by her presence.

Continuity, but not static. Like Monet's haystacks, her shadow changes with the four-seasons' varying light. In the dark now as the earth spins to let colors burst then fall away, her vest is a light in the dark. In the summer, it was just yellow. Now, she glows... and blinks.

I smile.

One of these days, I'm going to walk right up next to her, along with her.

Hello.

Maybe that will make her face light up, too.