Author: Rene

The time-honored tradition of creating three Easter outfits continues. Today I finally finished the escapade and could vacuum the thousands of threads littering the place.

We probably should wear these works of art this weekend – as it shall be much warmer than Easter Sunday…which is next weekend already!

Happy Spring.

It was a great start to the morning. The occupants of the car next to me on my drive down the popular Arapahoe Road were waving at me quite intentionally. Aha! It was my SIL with his beautiful daughter smiling and waving on their way to preschool. What a very fun morning gift.

Now with doors open and trees receiving water, I can see the lilacs beginning to bloom, the pear trees in full blossom, and the one patch of grass greening from sprinkler play yesterday. It’s Thursday with a bit of “spring” in my step.

Well, I had to research it.

Yes, we are in March Madness. College basketball was never my interest, even though I “professionally” cheered for it for three years, enduring flips in the air and possible death through missed catches. (Thank you, Joe Miller, for always catching me. Well, I was a lot lighter then?) I spent Senior year keeping stats for the sport to preserve my skeleton, and even though I found it fairly boring, the fact that I could spend time on something with numbers made me feel like I was contributing…

…and that something took me to the NAIA playoffs in Kansas City. That part of the game – was fun, even though I couldn’t remember what our division was? Who were we? For what were we playing?

The thing is, I hate the squeak of shoes on the court. It’s become less antagonistic over the years with everyone weighing in on their new anatomical developments. But the game itself drove me nuts. It was a new sport for women in my high school when I was a Junior, so I never played it and I didn’t develop a love for it. And I was “too short” in my mind. And I already had a superior sport – cheerleading!

Was I too short? One of my favorite memories is from college. I stood in for some team members of the girls BB team because they needed bodies and the coach asked me to participate in the practice sessions while the stars were plying their softball skills. Me? They were desperate. Little did they know I was ruthless. (Everyone underestimates cheerleaders, btw.) Apparently I was really good at stealing the ball – not making shots, but getting the golden snitch so someone else could score. This is all practice, mind you, not something worthy of being on a team.

I gently declined the offer to be a part of their sport when asked. I already had a first-place trophy for flag football, so I was good. No room for more accolades there.

So when March Madness happens, I just remember that I was asked to be on a college team. Never mind the desperation in the request, I was invited. A good thing to keep in mind with any request.

My daughter treated me to a concert in late night downtown Denver over the weekend. After the gorgeous string quartet event we were searching for something to do besides hit a bar.

We took the long way home searching for that answer, noticing that there were many after-hour venues available for spending our dough in the form of tattoo parlors. Then it dawned on us. The reason there are so many people inked these days is because Dollar Tree isn’t open late night! If it were, there could be a diversion for so many looking for an adventure other than imbibing.

Luckily, I’m not out that late often and the Dollar Tree store by me is within walking distance. And we did not get tattoos.

Every March I deign to “enjoy” a crappy Shamrock Shake from McDonalds. This is only because my sister, “Pindy” and her daughter, “Palysun,” and I used to get one when I visited the Great Plains. I remember them as being tastier.

Of course, when they were first introduced eons ago they were a delight. Now they have a rather caustic flavor about them. However, they are green and I somehow manage to consume the entire shake. There is a stipulation to this tradition. First, I must text my niece and tell her of my bowing to the time-honored task, and then I only order one for the season.

Happy pre- St. Patrick’s Day! 💚

My floor provides a little reminder of the past each morning after a family gathering.

The errant pea, now hardened, is quite attractive in its green color. The piece of salmon which “accidentally” fell off the fork is much easier to sweep up now. Bread crumbs strewn around are rather artistic in their appearance. Somebody had a fig bar for a snack yesterday, as I see the unfortunate ort looking a little distasteful.

Reminders of the past are all around us and I refuse to sweep them under a rug. (Apparently literally and figuratively)

Readying for the next round of crumbs. It is Wednesday.

I see her in the solitary snowflake 

captured on my mitten, 

and the first drop of rain

chasing a dry, dusty day.

I have glimpsed her in a sunset,

gently putting the day to rest.  

Once, she visited me in a 

sun-speckled afternoon, 

when I forgot my obligations. 

We sat together, 

inhaling Autumn for a moment.

She lives in the dawn, 

just before my eyes fully open, 

before I remember the body

I am connected to.  

Though I have betrayed

her in my worries, 

doubts and fears, 

she has remained 

steadfast in our friendship.

Hope.  

I need only be, and she will stay.

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower; 
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

Robert Frost

After the holiday rush I update the old address book – and I mean “old.”

They are still directories in my cupboard from my adult children’s school days, when personal information was just made public for the world. It sure made play dates easier. Those old books have come in useful many times so I keep them. My address book drives a few people nuts when they have to find something in there, but I understand what the arrows and corrections are. Additionally, I enjoy reading how many times my sister has moved. She afforded me many travel opportunities!

Thus, this gave me a chuckle. Perhaps today I will actually throw out the old Christmas cards that I still have adorning my countertop? It’s good to have a goal.

My favorite Van Gogh painting. Painted as a gift for his brother on the arrival of his son, “Vincent,” it has been attributed to being a symbol of new life. Isn’t that what spring is about anyway? I didn’t think the analogy was too far off.

This subject came to mind for two reasons. I noted rain for our forecast. Spring is upon us! I also opened the dress I ordered via Amazon which – surprise! – appears to have an almond blossom look to it. I knew I liked it for a reason. Maybe those goofy shoes I had to have and have worn once will match enough to pull off a coordinated look one day?

Alas – hope does spring eternal.