Hope Springs Eternal in Spring

What is it about spring that makes us stop and rethink our lives?  Is it the rebirth of the earth all around us or the promise of Easter?  I know that every year about this time I seem to find myself thinking of my life and/or the life that has chosen me. I have come to believe that everyone is writing their own story.  For many its a long love story, for others a thriller.  Mine a comedy of errors. As a young person I thought that you learned from your experiences but now I believe you create them. We create them by looking at our past.  We reach a fork in the road where we have to make a choice. We look back and see how we chose before, which way did we go. Common sense would tell us that we would see our mistakes and learn from them, but I firmly believe instead that we make the same mistakes over and over.  Maybe this is why so many thoughtful people have come to believe in reincarnation. Those mistakes have become such a part of our self image that we become the mistakes. If we have lied, we are a liar. If we cheated, we are a cheater. If we stole, we are a thief. If we have been victimized, we often become a victim. I love the Robert Frost poem, A Road Less Traveled ; but I firmly believe that the road he has chosen is less traveled, not so much by others, but by the author himself.  I think that the author has chosen to take a new direction in his life. That he has looked back at his mistakes and made a choice to venture into a less familiar direction. A direction that has made all the difference for him.  As I stumble along this new road for me, I step into potholes and trip over tree roots, but I continue to move forward on a road that has been less traveled by me.  A road alone, trying to find my way, without a man who lends strength, advice or direction, growing old.  Asking why I don't love someone and why no one loves me, and hearing God whisper softly, you do, you are.

A Southern Man

Almost 30 years ago, I watched Percy Sledge sing "When a Man Loves a Woman" to a small group of folks in a old bar in Daphne, Alabama, in the arms of the best man I have ever known. We were celebrating our first St. Patrick's Day together.  It was one of those nights when you wish you had a diary or a best girl friend so you could go home and call or write about it.  Instead I went home with that great guy, my late husband and wrote about it in my heart.  This St. Patrick's Day would have been our 28th Anniversary since we chose that day for our wedding.  This week  I think I got the best present I could have gotten'.  I got to hear Joshua Ledet sing "When a Man Loves a Woman" in what will be remembered as one of the best moments on American Idol ever.  Y'all know I am an Idol nut. Every year I watch, record and  listen from the very beginning. I love the out-takes, all the show prep, everything.  I have noticed that all the contestants say the say thing.  They all  just knew they would be on Idol.  That they have watched the show for 9, l0, 11 years, etc.  and......They just knew it.  Well, I have watched it for 11 years also and never once have I thought I would be on that show.  And I have been right.   I do want to say though that I love  Phillip Phillips, especially his eyes and sweet smile.  His wild style.  That is some cute Georgia boy, but  Joshua blew it out of the water.  And Joshua is a southern guy also.  He's from Louisianan and eats his crayfish to prove it.  I am such a regional bigot and snob.  I truly believe all the heat and humidity down here just makes us sweat and opens up our pours and makes us have less wrinkles, curlier hair and sing more soulful songs.  And all that inter-marrying stuff they talk about just makes us more interesting.  And our sweet-tea and fried chicken only makes us more grateful to be alive.  Its just all good.  Well, anyway,  it was the  highlight of a long and frustrating day for me and somehow hearing that song made it all a little better.  So Happy Anniversary, Honey in Heaven from me and Percy and Joshua.

My Spring Has Sprung

I admit I am suffering from writer's block.  For the last few weeks I have completely found my creativity stymied. Maybe it has to do with February and turning 60.  Between the weather and my birthday, its the worst month.  Whatever the reason, it is a depressing time of year.  This past weekend though I was to head to God's country.  Going to Alabama, and home, is always a comfort. But I didn't really want to make the drive.  Just thinking of the expense of filling my tank now throws me into a tail spin. I wanted to see my sweet new great nephew who had arrived early but in perfect shape and with the biggest hands I have ever seen on a newborn. Precious.  I wanted to help celebrate the upcoming wedding of my darling niece. I have missed my daughter and her hubby who's there.  But the gas?????  When I crossed the Alabama line though and saw the greenest of the earth, the crab apple and pear trees in full blossom and even azaleas in bloom, my spirits lightened.  Alabama is greener than the Obama Administration and Greenpeace combined. The trees in the N. Georgia Mountains have that sweet lacy look, hoping that the temps will rise enough to help them bud out.  The trees in Central Alabama are screaming "Its Spring Time". The air was cleaner and fresher and I felt so at home. My car was covered in a soft dusting of pollen, I had a slight hot flash and I got a mosquito bite. It was heaven.  On my return I had to call folks to give me the strength just to cross back over that Georgia line.  Now I am here again in my small if not boring life but the promise of spring has reminded me that one day I shall bust the bud of my calm resolve and bloom into complete happy hysteria. Its just a matter of time.

What's For Dinner, Dear? Deer.

The last reports were that 42 deer were killed in my neighborhood.  Although that's 42 more than I would have wanted, its l/3 of what they had planned and l0 less than last year.  Old ladies with air horns rule.  The deer though are certainly more cautious.  They still seem to have a sense of danger, fear still must hang in the air. They scatter easily when I drop something or move a little too quickly.  Post traumatic stress disorder.  My brother reminded me that in Trillium at Lake Martin several years ago all the experts came in just as they did here and told them they could cull 2/3 of their deer and the herd would be back to normal in no time. When he moved years later that had never happened.  You might see a deer, but it was not a common occurrence.  It seems that deer have a much better understanding of being mistreated than most middle aged women.  Talking of myself, there.  Deer remember and they prefer to spend their lives where they are appreciated.  I am talking sweetly to the ones in my back yard.  Telling that the worst is over and that they can relax.  They look at me with  some skepticism.    All I can promise is that we will try to protect them. The irony of all this is that I live in a wildlife preservation area.  Its been one of the ways our neighborhood was marketed. Obviously preservation doesn't mean a thing to a lot of people.  Someone told me its semantics.  Preservation as opposed to reservation.  The latter seems to only apply to Indians and dinner.  And that's what became of the 42 deer.  Someone's dinner.