Three (three, three) for my heart-ache

I want to make a grand statement, but I'm fearful.

Declaring that I have survived the winter is probably a little premature. I want to strain my ears for the spring time quartet. It's too early, though. It's too early. Be careful.

Proceed with caution. Quit longing for day-lilies and bumble bees to get wrapped up in my hair. Help me stop thinking about mud to my knees in May. I want to throw a few stones to see if I can hit summer in the face, is she that close? (She isn't.) I want to dip my cup in the long-evening purples of dusk and drink it like smooth bourbon (I can't). I want to walk around and grab little squirrels by their little hands and hold them close - congratulate them for living. (I won't).  Anyway, winter is still here. She's dying, but even fading things can kill someone's spirit if one is not careful.

This is what I want to say: I survived the worst winter to date.

This is what I want to say (also): I barely survived. If you see the magnolia buds on my street, ask them to hurry - and to please bring reinforcements.

I Said Things I Meant to Say

My papa tends to things in a way no-one else can.

He is making bat houses this spring. He raises worms. He feeds his birds. His flower garden is unparalleled. He adopts stray cats. He heals my heart whenever I'm anxiously sad. He makes sure his wife doesn't forget her evening pills. He is attentive when anyone is speaking. He loves to watch a good game of ping pong and always cheers for the winner. He might disagree, but it's always respectfully. He compliments servers. He sends me newspaper articles he thinks pertain to me. He lectures about life lessons (I listen).

He shares what he has - all the way from his worm-tea to bean dip to space on his houseboat in the summer, any summer. He fixes things, and paints things, and hangs things for my nena. He knows just when to hug me. He says the phrase, "grab and growl" before any meal. Sometimes, if we pray, he says: "So mote it be" at the end (which might be a freemason thing, but who knows? more importantly, who cares?) He listens to the Babs. He taught me to water-ski, to cry in public, to drive, to shoot free throws, to be kind and most importantly, to be happy no matter my circumstances.

I'm still really working on that last one. I suppose that's one that comes with age.

Have I told you lately that, basically, I'm the person I am because of him? I'm sure my dad was just like him - I never got a chance to know that. But if I'm anything, it's lucky. And loved.

Chemist On Campus

I don't know, really. Somedays, it's just like, I can reach my little hands right up to space and grab any random object (like, an asteroid or a little piece of ice cold metal), pop it in my mouth, eat it up and be awesomely strong and unstoppable. Get Usher on my iPod, give me a stretch of road, let me run... nay, let me conquer. Go ahead.

I dare you.

I come up with good jokes on days like this. I can't get over my atoms being forged in the sun on days like this. I can't stop making love to life on days like this. I can't stop thinking about dinosaurs and fossils and kittens and Extraterrestrial Life Forms and dream-catchers and dolphins and bridges and tiny babies sharing my air and also the air of a drunk Moses.

I don't know. Just, put your hands up, right? I need to dance.

And it's a shame this day has to end.