Greening

Greening

Comments 0 Comment

I noticed it ten days ago on the drive to Kentucky. I was heading west on I-64, about an hour outside Lexington, when something caught my eye. It was the pasture to my right. It was as if someone had taken a green crayon (“spring green” by Crayola) and scribbled furiously on the grass.

One minute it was brown and dull, winter’s leftover. The next it was verdant and bright, an advertisement for spring.

Nothing else had changed; the highway was still gray and the sky was still blue. But I had crossed some sort of line. The stealthy greening that had been happening for weeks — some of that time beneath the snow — had suddenly revealed itself.

 Meteorological spring had long since passed, but this was the real thing.

Resurrection, Continued

Resurrection, Continued

Comments 0 Comment

As it happens, the priest based his Easter sermon on the article mentioned below. There was no equivocation from the pulpit — not that I expected any. But there was this comment: that we need no proof, no scientific evidence, to believe. All we need is faith.

Having my father on the other side now — someone who lived so fully on earth in his human “skin” — makes me think and hope that all that love, all that energy, has gone somewhere. That it exists in a form I can’t access at this point makes sense to me.

Last Friday I stopped by the church for a few moments. I had driven home from Kentucky that day and missed the service I usually attend. By instinct I headed for the small chapel, what used to be the main sanctuary before the grand, new one was built.

The minute I stepped into that welcome darkness I was struck by the aroma. It was the Easter flowers. They had already been delivered — all the lilies, azaleas, hydrangeas and hyacinths — and were being stored in the chapel until the great Easter vigil celebration Saturday evening. The fragrance was almost overpowering, but I inhaled deeply anyway.

It was a preview, a welcome aromatic reminder, of all that lies in store.

Resurrection

Resurrection

Comments 2 comments

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. It is also April 20, exactly a month after my father passed away. I’ve  been thinking of this coincidence —3/20 and 4/20 — and of the leap of faith required to believe in bodily resurrection after witnessing first-hand a bodily demise. 

It is, I suppose, an appropriate time to be pondering this eternal mystery. And an article in today’s Washington Post convinces me that I’m not alone.

As Easter approaches, many Christians struggle with how to understand
the Resurrection. How literally must one take the Gospel story of Jesus’
triumph to be called a Christian? Can one understand the Resurrection
as a metaphor[?] …

Here’s what I’ve decided. And it solves no great theological mystery. It’s only what I have to get me through:

It is no metaphor to me that Dad is gone — nor is it metaphor that he lives on. There is real, tangible proof that he does.  He is there in the World War II books and the multiple DVDs of “Twelve O’Clock High” (his favorite film and one he believed everyone should watch. “It’s not about war,” he told his friends. “It’s about leadership.”).  He is there in the bell he installed on the back door so the cat could be let in. He is there in the statue of St. Francis, one of many items he planted in the now overgrown garden. Most of all he is present in all of his friends, in my mom and in each one of us, his children.

You may have to look harder for him now — you couldn’t miss Dad before; he was always the life of the party — but he’s there, I’m sure of it.

Cut-Through, Continued

Cut-Through, Continued

Comments 0 Comment

As it turns out, Parker’s Mill Road does have a sidewalk, at least in part. And today I took that sidewalk out into “the country,” which is surprisingly close to this part of Lexington. The fences are black instead of white on this road — though less than a mile away are the famous white fences and red accents of Calumet Farm, home of many Derby winners.

But today I was the one doing the running, not just the thoroughbreds. I trotted down Parker’s Mill into Cardinal Valley Park, following the signs that said “Walking Trail,” and found myself on a beautiful paved path that ran a mile or more. Trees arched over the trail and it was pleasantly busy with dog-walkers, amblers and what appeared to be an entire high school track team.

It was late afternoon. The sun was warm and slanting, the air cool and refreshing. And there settled on me that kind of well-being that it’s tempting to call “runner’s high” — but is more than that, I’m convinced; is some amalgam of fresh air, exertion and the mind-jostling that comes with movement.

Whatever it is, today it was made possible by the cut-through. As I climbed back over the fence toward home, I gave a silent cheer.

Cut-Through

Cut-Through

Comments 0 Comment

A couple days ago, I parked and walked on Lane Allen, a hilly road I’ve grown fond of on recent visits to Lexington. It has a tree-canopied section — the most treacherous of all, of course, no shoulder, no sidewalk but on the north end some trampled grass, the pedestrian’s makeshift sidewalk.

On this particular walk I turned and looked behind me, back to Parker’s Mill, an even hillier, sidewalk-less road, and noticed that the field behind St. Raphael Church abutted property I thought was along my usual route.

Yesterday I tested the theory. This involved tiptoeing through a backyard, scaling a fence, crossing a  creek and almost entering a horse pasture by mistake. But eventually I found my way to the church property (they won’t mind trespassing, I reasoned) and over to Lane Allen.

 It was a small discovery, but it made me unreasonably happy. Now I can take a beautiful walk without driving to it. Now I know the real lay of the land.  I’m that much closer to being a walker in this suburb.

Heedless Birds

Heedless Birds

Comments 0 Comment

The birds woke me this morning. Well, not really. But I was conscious of them at an early stage of awakening. I was thinking about their bravery. They have no choice but to be themselves. And that, as we know, is not always easy.

This time of year birds are heedless. It’s springtime and they’re taking chances. Bumping into windows, buzzing cars. They are high-wire artists, full of song and derring-do. They have mating on their minds, of course. They will stop at nothing to find their lady (or gentleman) loves. They may as well be deer dashing across the highway. But if I ran into a bird I wouldn’t dent the car.

So add to the list of spring marvels the madness (and madcapness) of birds. They flit, they soar, they perch on electric wires. They throw their slight bodies gladly into the world.

Dean’s Ravine Today

Dean’s Ravine Today

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday there were balmy breezes, scented air. The wind scattered petals over greening lawns.

Today it’s cold and snowy. The daffodils hang their heads. The red buds are coated in white.

It’s all part of the process, I know, two steps forward, one step back.

But it’s chilling — in more ways than one.

Mrs. Dean’s Ravine

Mrs. Dean’s Ravine

Comments 0 Comment

Mrs. Dean has been gone more than two decades now, but her garden is still thriving — a legacy for its current owners (who have lovingly cared for it) and those who live nearby.

It starts off innocently enough: daffodils and forget-me-nots.

But it soon slopes down a steep hill into a bowl-shaped parcel studded with red bud and dogwood. It’s a secret garden, a natural ravine designed to look as wild as possible. I’m glad I could see it as it’s just coming alive to spring.

Blue Grass Stakes

Blue Grass Stakes

Comments 0 Comment

The Kentucky Derby is the first Saturday in May — but in Lexington it’s the second Saturday in April when all eyes turn to the track.

That’s when the three-year-old Derby hopefuls race in Keeneland’s Blue Grass Stakes. Yesterday’s winner, Dance with Fate, may not race next month, but that didn’t dampen turnout — it was the second largest crowd in history. The 77-degree temperature didn’t hurt.

So there were picture hats and tailgate parties and that familiar damp smell under the grandstand. There was the fine dirt flying up from galloping hooves down the back stretch. And there was the crescendo roar from the crowd when the thoroughbreds crossed the finish line.

Not that I was there. I’m just imagining it.

Cherry Blossoms!

Cherry Blossoms!

Comments 0 Comment

It was the end of a long day, a long week — and it was a long walk, too. But I left the office yesterday a little before 5, cruised through Judiciary Square, the Penn Quarter and onto the Mall. By that point the mood was decidedly celebratory.

And even though I said I wouldn’t do it again, I walked all the way around the pink-petal-rimmed Tidal Basin, joining the throngs on one of the first warm days in the nation’s capital.

It’s worth noting that unless you want to rent a paddle boat, strolling is the only way to see the cherry trees in their glory.

So I did. As did everyone else.  Babies in prams, bikers in spandex, bureaucrats in blazers — we were
all ambling for one purpose: to see the cherries in peak bloom and welcome the
spring.

It has been such a hard winter … but now it’s over.

Hallelujah!