The greening of my world

It has been several few weeks since I've been able to walk Cheyenne in the mornings. We've been at the park daily but I've driven there, and it's not at all the same pleasure as the walks we used to take before all this went sour. This morning we set foot into our neighborhood world again. It was delightful! Although not quite yet April, this morning had April's fingerprints all over it. The home gardens tended and planted, the redbuds in full bloom, the dogwoods. And, my favorite, the confederate jasmine has begun to bloom along the fences, including my own. The small pinwheel shaped flowers of white have appeared and are dangling on bright green stems of growth, loaded with that sweet scent. Had I noticed yesterday? Like the new growth everywhere around me, this day is also new. And this morning I was fully in the present. It has been a while since I could say that.

Undesirable secondary effects

For the past couple months, I have been taking Prednisone, a corticosteroid, for medical reasons. It’s pretty powerful stuff and it takes care of the problem but it also comes with a crowd of side effects. And something about my physical/chemical make-up invites the whole throng to come on in and hang their side-effecting hats for a while. Seriously, every one of these has been keeping me company lately:

• stomach irritation
• insomnia
• fatigue
• restlessness
• depression
• anxiety
• easy bruising
• weight gain
• blurred vision
• rounding/puffiness of the face
• night sweats
• personality changes

Does that sound fun to you? It's not. But looking at the list itself provides me with some amusement. My favorite is the last item. It’s as if the person who scribed the list was actually reading it and thought, that would piss me off, so they added the list up and put the result at the end. Experience all of these things and your personality will change too. It's a side effect of the side effects.

The end of the innocence

There are three words I want to hear: Happy Easter, Alison. I've heard them today though, so perhaps I should be more specific. I want to hear them in my father's voice.

I have been counseled by well-meaning and generous friends about the holidays and how they are different to experience for the first time after a loss. I thought I understood, but today I learned that I understood intellectually. I mean, of course the holidays are hard. That makes sense. But we don't have logical hearts.

This morning I awoke early, enjoyed a hot cup of coffee while reading the first few sections of the Sunday paper, and then pulled two eggs from the fridge and put them in a pan of water on the stove with the intention of having hard boil eggs for breakfast. But when I took them off the stove and began to peel them, to my surprise they were not hard-boiled, but soft. I like soft-boiled eggs, but couldn't help myself from thinking about my father liking them as well. And with that thought, I couldn't breathe. Okay, so I expect that. Emotional ambushes are going to crash through. But the tumbling began there. I was going to talk to plenty of people today: mother, brother, sister, niece, nephew, friends, and say, Happy Easter. But not so my father. And I suddenly felt that I'd taken a turn onto a familiar street, only to look around and see nothing I'd seen before. It felt like hearing a train in the distance, a dog barking in the distance, a child crying in the distance. Everything in the distance. It felt like being 500 miles away from my own heart.

I know that nothing ever remains the same, a time comes when we follow new paths, have new experiences. It's a full life I'm living and I know that when I was born, I could not walk or even focus my eyes. And I learned. And I learned because I was taught. All through life, we continue to grow and learn and develop our identities. And we learn because we are taught. And as we are taught, we learn to trust not only ourselves but also our teachers. We see ourselves connected to them and we see ourselves as part of a circle. My father was an integral part of my circle. He allowed me to be free to learn, free to achieve, free to live, and at the same time, accountable to the circle. But starting my day with soft-boiled eggs, and hearing and speaking Happy Easter, while familiar and pleasant, still has me arriving at the feeling that my circle has been broken. I find myself reaching for the hands that are not there. And my hand is left open and missing his. My heart is broken and missing his. I miss his mighty roar. I miss his gigantic tail. I miss my rascal, Puff. This is my new circle. I miss my old circle.

Here comes Peter Cotton Tail, and there go his ears

When I was a child of Easter egg hunting age, the Easter Sunday morning routine would actually begin the night before with Mom hiding all the chocolate and eggs throughout the house while my sister, brother and I slept. Come Sunday morning, we'd grab our empty Easter baskets and run through the house in search of the best haul of goods. And by run through the house, I mean RUN THROUGH THE HOUSE LIKE CHOCOLATE-ADDICTED MANIACS. I'm sure that our movement would have rendered us out of focus to even the sharpest eye. We were terrors on a mission, lifting up couch and chair cushions, flinging back curtains, diving under tables, tripping over each other and stepping on each other with absolutely no care beyond our pure chocolate-driven greedy goal. Animals in the wild, we were. Ultimately, it was not the colored foil wrapped eggs or malted milk eggs that we were after. Somewhere in the house was hidden a chocolate bunny rabbit for each of us. That was the holy grail of the morning. Usually they were hidden in plain sight, atop a picture frame or lamp, but year after year we failed to remember that, caught up in our own frenzy. And we also failed to remember that our bunnies came without ears. Every year, without fail, no ears. Well, maybe they were made with them but our bunnies arrived to us without them. The teethmarks in the chocolate were definitely those of my very guilty looking but highly amused father's. Mom would be exasperated, trying to console us because of course we'd be wailing about it as if it were a complete surprise (chocolate addition can lead to dramatic behavior), and on the other hand, wondering out loud, when Dad did it, had he followed her when she was hiding them, and why would he do this to the kids? Dad would give us his what can I say? look, a very wide-eyed-to-the-sky sort of look accompanied by shrugged shoulders and hands upheld palm upward. Eventually the tears would dry and we'd step into our eating frenzy, trying to stuff as much chocolate in our greedy mouths as we could before being told it was time to dress for church, and to leave our baskets downstairs. Some things don't change. Last year he ate the ears off the chocolate bunny I brought Mom. It' one of those things that just is, and it's not something that I ever remember thinking I'd always remember, likely because it was repeated yearly. I am remembering it now though, and it's making me smile. Happy Easter.

Coincidence?

Just noticed that all three posts today, and now four, contain some form of the word pink. Easy enough to do when talking about fingernail polish and springtime but the bit about the Civil Engineers and the pinky rings, well, that's just kinda funny how that fit right into the theme that I wasn't at all noticing I'd set. I think that's all I have to say for now. Well, one more thing: Pink!

One my father would have liked

Got an interesting e-mail this afternoon from my number one pen-pal, the suitcase-missing friend in Canada. He tells me a story about his noticing over the past couple days that several of the men he's working with wear a ring on their pinky finger. He found this a bit odd, not only that these guys who he assures me are manly men would be wearing rings on their pinky fingers, but that it's not just one guy, rather several. His curiosity leads him to ask the significance. What he learns is that the rings are made from the material of a bridge that failed due to poor engineering. Several lives were lost in the collapse. The ring serves as a reminder to these men (Civil Engineers) that civil engineers have a responsibility to the population they serve to be diligent in their effort to construct in such a way that protects people. That a bunch of manly men are living and working in Canada with pinky rings on their fingers that serve as their professional and ethical compass, now that is a good story.

Pistol Packin' Pink

The color on my toes is Pistol Packin’ Pink. It’s an OPI color and while OPI makes a good polish, I really gotta hand it to them for their names. They are clever, and pure fun to read. In the pinks alone, there’s:

• Pinking of You
• Not so Bora-Boring Pink
• La Paz-itively Hot
• Italian Love Affair
• Cha-Ching Cherry
• Arginteeny Pinkini
• A-rose at dawn… broke by noon

You get the idea. I don’t read polish names except for OPI. And I’m not alone. There are loads of us who walk up to the fingernail polish display in salons all over the country and we turn the OPI bottles over just to read the names.

I’ve spent more than a small amount of time wondering about the naming process OPI might utilize. Is it someone’s job? And if it is, I just know that it's a clever job title. Or is it a group effort? Whose idea was it to incorporate Geography? Are names scribbled on charts like brainstorming ad concepts? Are the names tested for appeal with their target audience? Every scenario I can think of has fun written all over it. I do not know, but if there is a job naming OPI nail polish, well I think it just has to be one of the coolest jobs out there. Assuming, of course that it paid well and offered good benefits.

Pretty in pink

I went to sleep late last night. Got up late this morning. My skirt is wrinkled, my shirt is wrinkled. My shoes have scuff marks on them. My hair is in a ponytail. I am, once again, a mess. During lunch I'm going to get a pedicure - my nails will soon be painted a seasonally appropriate pink. Hey, I may be wearing wrinkled clothes and scuffed up shoes, but I'm still a girl reveling in Springtime.

First Quarter 2005 - Most Valuable Players

I’d like to take this moment to recognize those people on my team that have really given it their all lately. And by “given it their all,” I mean they have been there for me with support or laughter or a kind word or a strong shoulder, and consistently so. I am thankful for these friends and I feel blessed to know and love them. (Except for the last two who I do not know or love but have appreciated from a distance.)

For instance:
My number one brother looking out for everyone’s interests in the family, including my own, to the point of exhaustion, leaving no option unconsidered or phone call not made, and exhibiting an extreme patience towards our mother and our nephew, even though he’s also extremely concerned. And frustrated. And hurt.

My number one sister-in-law for always answering my telephone calls and talking with me in a frame of mind and tone of voice that’s understanding and supportive.

My friends, J&C, for their open door policy with me. Yes I can stay there, recover there, help myself there. My dog – with or without me – has been welcome there as well. And also for the supply of champagne at their house. Which they maintain anyway so I should say the supply of champagne that is always offered up with a ‘help yourself to…’ or “would you like?”

My friend, S, for hours and hours of her listening to me work out and through every thought or feeling that I could identify. Patient girl, that one. And for picking up Cheyenne or stopping by and feeding her on evenings I would be late.

My friend MB for meeting me at the park last night with a bottle of champagne. And for three hours we sat at a picnic table beneath the sun and then the stars, all the while a nice breeze. We chatted and laughed and I, for one, had a fantastic evening. Extra kudos her way for coming home with me and helping me flip my mattress and make my bed because a girl just cannot flip a mattress by herself and it was way past its time to be flipped, and that was bothering me. Most importantly though, because it made me wake up laughing because I had the words “Flipping the big white mattress” playing in my head to the rhythm of “Tripping the light fantastic.”

My old colleague, J, who is my number one pen-pal. We let the emails drop a while ago, both of us busy. But they've picked up again and it's always a pleasure to read his thoughts, his stories, and to see the pictures he sends me. Ours is always a good conversation and I am really enjoying having it again.

My number one girl, Stevie Nicks, for sending this fan an e-card invitation to spend $125.00 on a ticket to see her perform on one of four nights at Caesars in Las Vegas in May. Though it’s unlikely I’ll be going, it’s good to know that she’s still going to do solo gigs.

The guy in front of me at the coffee shop drive-thru this morning, who apparently said he’d get my coffee as well, so when I drove up to the window, I was told to put my wallet away. Nice treat! Tomorrow morning, I’m going to pay it forward.

So thanks, all of you. I wish I had a minivan so I could take the whole team out for a post-game pizza party. (Or, hey, maybe the guy who stole the Hummer would be willing to drive?). After we ate our pizza, I’d give everyone a whole roll of quarters for video games. And Stevie could sing. Oh yeah, what a cool pizza party that would be!

Reward

Someone stole a Hummer from the student parking lot of my niece’s high school today, and when she told me, she was laughing and so was I (our anti-Hummer feelings are mutual, we just do not understand the need for suburban folks driving around town or to school in military vehicles that start at $50,000 and get 13 miles to the gallon). The stolen Hummer happens to belong to Koby Clemens, as in son of Roger Clemens, so it has been BIG NEWS here. I’m not supporting auto theft, understand, but neither do I support giving a Hummer to a high school kid, no matter who you are, and in particular one who is not going to lock the doors of the vehicle. (You wanna bet that he heard wait until your father gets home?) I know it’s an unfortunate incident and I shouldn’t derive pleasure from it but what can I say? There’s a state-wide, all points bulletin that's been issued, and a $10,000 reward for return of the vehicle. Um, yeah, the exact same treatment we all can expect.