Mom was big into the holidays. Even the little ones. She's use any excuse she could to buy my brother and me a card and little gift. Those mornings, when she crooned us awake—Mom didn't believe her children should have to be startled away by alarm clocks when her loving voice was available to coax them to the day—and we stumbled down the darkened hall from which the bedrooms fed.

The light in the kitchen was always way too bright in our exodus from slumber, but even squinty eyed and barely coherent, we knew to look for those envelopes on the kitchen table, propped up and showcasing her lovely filigreed scrawl. Life is what you make of it, they always say...well, Mom made life extraordinary. Little things were a big deal. Nuances were cherished.



I was thinking back to last Easter just the other day, how stark of a departure I've taken from my life for this year's coming. I'm not cooking a meal this year, I'm not saddened because Mom was suffering from a new and ugly form of chemotherapy on Good Friday. I missed her so last year. I guess that hasn't changed...and it's also raining again. The skies cry.

I noticed about a month ago that I was attracted to the scent of lavender when I have never been during the past. Straining toward the sweet spiciness constantly, I purchased, for perhaps the first time ever, a parfum from Crabtree and Evelyn that wasn't Lily of the Valley, my scent of the last decade-plus. Mom never wore lavender, goodness no. She wore this terrible headache-inducing fragrance that I hated. Dad once mistook it for bug repellent upon the air. Open mouth; insert foot.

So, I didn't understand the draw at first, but have come to realize that it isn't the scent that reminisces, but the feelings of comfort and peace it inspires. This is what she did to me. Memories cascade about, like long, silky tresses in the soft late summer breeze. Graceful and delicate, I watch them dance and allow myself to feel.

Happy Easter.

A few weeks ago, over Starbucks coffee, Nick, Jeff, Kara, and I tried to conduct conversation. It started well, all being in agreement that Kevin Covais really does look like Chicken Little. But then things went downhill, and Nick and Jeff started talking golf. This was in direct response to the discussion Kara and I were having about Johnny Depp.

You know, the four of us played Trivial Pursuit together once, Jeff and Kara vs. Nick and me, and there was a seeming pattern wherein the men correctly answered every Orange question and the women correctly answered every Pink question. Paired, we're well-educated forces...if you can forgive the lack of knowledge in history, literature, science, and geography.

But seriously, we've got entertainment and sports covered.

There was a pause in talk, and we all began staring at the ceiling, the exposed rafters on Starbucks' upper level. Thought bubbles began to float above our positions around the fireplace...."something we can all talk about...something we can all talk about..."

When nobody knew whether or not Johnny Depp played golf, we had to call it a night.

...but not mine: I don't make resolutions.

Nick does. He did. He resolved to run a half-marathon this year. He told me so the first time I spoke with him on the phone. The funniest thing about resolutions, in my estimation, is that there's no surer way to resolve NOT to do something than when you pledge otherwise on January first.

I should have known that our darling Nicholas would not fall into such a trap. (Speaking of which, the aforementioned thinks I should have a "Stuff About Nick" category...a little self-important, isn't he?) We ran companionably side-by-side for four miles this evening, and then hit the grocery store for dinner, fruit, granola...you know, healthy crap. Nutritionally sound living: it's a nasty side effect of exercise.

Groceries loaded, we were headed toward Nick's condo when he announced, "So...I finished a half-marathon today." I looked his way, feeling guilty. I didn't know he had a run today. I'm a poor friend. I stared a bit longer, feeling low, wanting details. Nick continued, "I didn't say I started it today....but I finished 'er."

So Nick's been super busy at work, going in early, staying late. Yesterday a thought, a seeming incongruence, struck.

April has been a glorious month thus far. Spring is most certainly in the air, but I know better than anyone the bullying of the Mother's day snowstorm, so I am trying not to get over excited. Last night, though, it even smelled  of Spring, the misting rain, the wet soil. I exhaled deeply from my perch on the couch, relaxing into the cushions before turning to Nick. The time had come, and I would get to the bottom of this.

"Uh, Nick?" I don't know why the information was so important to me. I am going to blame my new medication. It has a slew of side effects just to make my belly stop aching including, but not restricted to, the complete inability to keep food down for an hour or two after I take it...which is every twelve hours. So...basically they're saying that if I just stop having to digest food, my stomach won't hurt. Gotcha, Boss. Anyway, I'm blaming the evil pill on this incident, I've now decided...ignore the title completely. Thanks.

Nick looked over, obviously tired and weary...and oh so meek. I hated to even insinuate that he had told me an untruth the VERY DAY we met, but it bothered me. It really, really bothered me. He's told me that this frenzied time at work will last for weeks. WEEKS. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a busy period to me. "Um, I thought you said your busy period at work was in the Spring?"

Dead silence, pointed look.

He stared a bit longer, then glanced toward the mid-sixties April rain shower beyond the window pane.

"It iiiiiis."

"But why is it so busy n—" Oh.

Stupid medicine. Stupid, stupid.

This was taken last Sunday, one of the first times I've seen Charlie since Mom passed away. I will always see his gentle fingers caressing her cheek the morning she went into a coma...and he is beautiful to me.