Spring

A winsom-weathered weekend.

We started by driving to Dominick’s and finding flowers to fit a friend with a ruptured appendix. Then we headed to the hospital to see and support our sleeping sister.

Before supper I biked my mail to a box. Our evening entertainment included the Jazz Band and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I told myself as I sank into the sack that I should sleep until eleven.

I slept until 11:20, then bounced out of bed to load up my laundry. Lunch was in the gym, where we watched the wheelchair basketball game between the Wheelchair Bulls and the Trinity Trolls. Our team’s arms were aching.

After cleaning my corner, an amiga arrived to ask about some pronunciation problems. As I tutored Gloria, my new hispanic friend, on tricky words like “childhood” and “confusion,” I felt entirely in my element.

The quintessential sunshine summoned us to the tennis courts at the high school. It was my first time to try tennis, and I am not terribly talented at this activity. But it was fun.

We returned to ready ourselves for ushering at the Court Theatre on the south side. We rode in with the theatre director and his lovely wife. Viewing Flyin’ West for free was a fabulous favor offered in exchange for ripping tickets and saying “please turn your cell phones off” five hundred times.

It was almost time to change our clocks when I finally fell into bed. Not long enough later, I got up to go to church. After that I made myself a meal and slept with Shakespeare on my lap.

I took the long route all through the neighborhood to Liz’s vocal recital. Her lovely voice sang of spring.

"My soul hears by sight,
As to glorify the Creator
All things shout for joy, all things laugh.
Only listen: the splendor of the
Blossoming spring is the speech of nature,
Which plainly through our looking
Speaks to us everywhere."

. . . . .

I finally fished my roller blades out of my trunk and tried them out. I can’t brake when going downhill. But the warmth of the sun made it okay that I always had to coast to a stop and turn around to go back up to where I wanted to be.
All too soon the day was done and I had to come inside, settle down, and do my homework.

"When the streams turn pink in the setting sun,
And a slight shudder rushes through the wheat fields,
A plea for happiness seems to rise out of all things
And it climbs up towards the troubled heart.
A plea to relish the charm of life
While there is youth and the evening is fair,
For we pass away, as the wave passes;
The wave to the sea, we to the grave."