why i cry and other sundry items.

Picture this:
i'm sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs in my front yard.  beside me is a Camellia tree - huge, over 10 feet i'd say, and breaking into bud.  i hear the creek laughing.  i see tiny purple pinpricks of flower on its bank.  it smells like spring.  the warm breeze feels like spring.  the blue sky and mountains surround me.  i breath deeply.
my son, who is home from school because he's sick, is kicking his soccer ball around the backyard (yes, obviously sick-as-a-dog).  he looks down the side of the house and sees me sitting.  he yells "he mom, do you remember this?"
and then he sings "i've been dreaming of a true loooooves kiiiiiiss".
from the movie "enchanted".  have you seen it?  you should.
his pitch is perfect.  he even works the vibrato and extends his arm out as he holds the last note.
my son, at the age of almost seven, is a hopeless romantic.  and i am the object of his affections.  i love it.  i know it won't last (it better not last!), so i will soak in every ounce while i can.
and that was my perfect moment of the day.

i love spring.  i love love love spring.  and here, being in a home with a beautiful established garden, every day is a treasure hunt.  today i found new purple hosta shoots, 2 inches out of the ground, that i swear were not there a few days ago.  there is a tree blooming with some tiny fuschia clusters of flower.  something is green and leafy everywhere - i'm hoping it's hyacinth (otherwise i have a truly invasive weed that i'm smiling at daily).  i found tulips today that i hope will be out for Easter.  i truly feel like there is magic taking place out the front window.  it fills me with wonder.  what an incredible gift to be reminded, year after year, that death and rest bring lift and flourishing.  that even the lifeless rotted sticks of a plant can be made new.  i love seeing the dahlias returning - the new red shoots pushing up right beside the dead brown ones from last year.  pure miracle.

i am realizing more and more in my older age that i love tradition, rhythm, ceremony.  i was reminded of this last week when i cried at my sons little league parade.  what was there to cry about?  a row of boys in too-big t-shirts plodding behind their coaches.  and bagpipes.  but i looked at the crowds of people cheering on their sons and brothers, and these awkward boys, and thought of how this organization has been doing this for so many years... and i was done-in.

maybe it's the public encouragement that makes me cry, i don't know.  i cry when we watch "the voice" and one of the coaches gives a heartfelt congratulations to their team member.  i cry in Christmas productions when everyone starts clapping. do i just tear up with applause?  man i'm strange.

i keep reminding myself that tears are the storehouses of disease and stress and they just need OUT.  i think i've kind-of made up that philosophy/biology, but it works for me.

i've been painting non-stop the last 3 days, trying to finish two pieces for our church's Easter service.  i'll post them when they're completed.  as i've been painting i figured out how to listen to audio files through the library.   what fun!  painting while listening to a story.  i've been listening to "big stone gap", a story set in the blueridge mountains of Virginia.  the author (Adriana Trigiani) is reading it (i love that) and she has this magnificent southern twang that i simply can not get out of my head.  i keep asking Scott "am i talking with an accent?" and he just smiles.  what's weird is that i'm thinking with an accent.  as i type these words i'm hearing them with an accent.  and i want to say "corn grits" and "higgeldy-piggeldy".  now, that felt good.  i've been listening to Adriana's voice for three days straight and i'm still not finished the story.  i haven't seen the physical book, so it could be 600 pages long, but i think it's taking so long because she just takes her time.  this manner of speaking does not rush.  i'm listening to the story in blueridge mountain time, and i wish my whole life lilted and paused and swaggered like her voice does.

tomorrow is a busy one with my daughter's 10th birthday party. the theme is "cupcake spa", and, being the sole spa employee, i hope it doesn't kill me.  death by cupcake and face mask.  hopefully i will find a moment to peruse my front yard miracle, and speak to myself tenderly in a southern drawl.

maybe i'll even be serenaded by a little prince in t-ball uniform.