Evergreen

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Appalachia was in the greening.  That time in early spring when the green leaves on the trees were so slight, so new, so small, that they were more of a green haze than a green bower.

The greening on this April day was superb.  The sky was the blue of a robin’s eggs with air so clear and so clean it was like Thanksgiving crystal before the feast.

With the revival of the garden, the greening, came the realization that winter was over.  Happiness flooded Charlotte’s heart.  On her knees, she pulled weeds from around the irises, making room for the hollyhocks to begin their biannual ascent.  “I am blissful,“ she said aloud.  She grinned though there was no one in the garden to see her or hear her.  

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My Grief Lives in My Lungs

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Grief lives in my lungs.  My lungs temper my grief – keep me upright, keep me alive, keep breathing…putting one foot in front of the other.  Grief lives in my lungs.

I had quit smoking in the months before my dad died.  I had tried so many times to quit smoking and this time seemed to be working.  Oh sure, I had cravings, but I was managing them. 

My mother called, “Come quick. It’s an emergency.”  Part of me knew.  I stopped breathing.

And then, I went tearing down the hill after putting shoes on.  Normally I would have gone barefoot. I don’t know why the shoes. In case we had to go to the hospital? Part of me knew.

I was breathing hard by the time I got to the house. Shallow, unsatisfying breaths.  My father dead on the floor.  I quickly knelt and started chest compressions, went to blow air in his mouth.  Cold.  He was cold.

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There’s nothing better than. . .

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There’s nothing better than standing in the kitchen of a rented beach condo eating a peanut butter, potato chip, and butter sandwich on plain old grocery store wheat bread. 

Wet hair, damp bathing suit, sand between the toes.  Slathered peanut butter, thick cold real butter, crispy salted potato chips on bread with barely enough oomph to hold it all.  Superb.

So much so that two are better than one.  The second one should be consumed in a chair on the balcony.  Maybe wash it down it with a Coke or perhaps an afternoon cup of coffee.

After a day at the beach, the body needs what that sandwich offers.  Salt after sweating, protein after swimming, fat just because it tastes good.  I love love love a peanut butter sandwich after a day at the beach.

I also love a frou-frou umbrella drink at the beachside bar. At about noon. I used to always have a daiquiri – strawberry — frozen, one shot and twice as much strawberry mix as usual – two drinks worth with half the alcohol, an all-afternoon sipper in a thermal cup.

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Walking

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I like walking in the morning after a big snow.  The fluffy kind that eddies and swirls with each step.  When the silence is so profound it is a roar.  When all you can see is white. Frosted trees, curious mounds that used to be lawn furniture,  and the small tracks of some wild animal out foraging for breakfast.  When air sparkles silver and the shadows make interesting images on the white canvas of the snow.

I like walking at lunchtime with my close friend who is also my boss to the restaurant we have chosen for lunch.  I cannot often afford to do this any longer, but I miss those walks.  Idle chatter, not related to work, feet pounding cement,  me trying to keep up with a woman nine years my senior. 

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