I love a parade

Today is one of those days that started out gray and gloomy and overcast, but now, at 3, it's sunny and bright and hot. It makes me wish that I were outside or working in the yard or walking around town with Kat, who came up to spend the weekend with me, even though I have to work through most of it.

So, I'm in the Anatomy lab,, suffering through the smell of formaldehyde from the cat dissections that are taking place with the 241 students, and staring longingly out at the green grass that was cut a few days ago, and is now a nice, soft, cool, comfortable cushy pad for laying on and staring up at the sun.

However, I haven't been doing this all day. I started my day at about 6:30 or so, going to work at the Black Drop, and even though I wished I was outside, it was an easy-peasy shift. Customers were especially happy and friendly, the shop was full of people that I liked, and Ryan was in rare form. We busted ass and got stuff done, and prepared for the influx of people after the parade got done, which never really seemed to come while I was there. I took my long lunch break at the Daisy cafe, being waited on by Chaser, with Kat and John's company. Delicious food and the presence of people I love while the sun began to peek out... it made it all a little shinier, a little brighter, a little more like a treat than my normal Saturday. I wasn't sad to go back to work my last hour, slinging coffee with Kim, and then leaving the shop to go find Kat downtown when Ryan came back from break.

I found Kat at the side of the Ski to Sea parade route on Magnolia and Cornwall. We stood close and chatted while I watched high school marching bands and drill teams, and people walking their dogs for the Humane Society, and I have to admit, I got a little choked up.

I've been doing that lately, choking up at the most random of times for the smallest of things. I saw the happy dogs and their owners from the Humane Society coming down the street and the thought of the animal shelter gave me an almost painful but grateful twang. I felt my throat getting thick. Then, there was a high school flag team, all braided hair and shiny flags, followed by a marching band that was playing very well and trying very obviously to keep their formation perfectly held. It made me think of high school, of being on the drill team, of the excitement and the drama played out at each high school football game. (Not the game itself, I couldn't have cared less about the team. It was the night's performance, the marching in the mud, the time after the game with my high school boyfriend who was in the marching band and who I knew was watching me while I moved through my routines. The game was just the stage for the pangs of adolescence, the feeling of belonging, and the chance to be a teenager in the dark, past my bedtime, with minimal supervision.) I started thinking about the path I'm on to becoming a teacher, about how important this career move is to me. I had glimpses of being able to coach a drill team, of getting the chance to be that supportive adult in a teenager's life, like my advisor Mona was to me. I got choked up again, and waved enthusiastically at the girls with their big, nervous smiles. Kat and I chatted about the possibilities, about school and parades and women we know, and really what we were saying underneath it all is that we're reconnecting and sharing these experiences together. It was sunny, my best friend was standing close to me, and I kept feeling like the weight of possibility was likely to make me cry.

We talked about babies over breakfast, about how John says he doesn't but I know that he secretly does have names already picked out for our hypothetical children. The subject of a baby monitor came up, and Kat mentioned a video monitor, and John had a lightbulb go on over his head. "That would be so easy to do! I could totally do that!!" He exclaimed.
"Oh, John just got an idea.." I replied.
"Yeah, I totally did!" he grinned, and then his eyes went to that place he goes when we talk about being parents, and his whole face got soft. Yup, you guessed it. It made me choke up.

Kat said she read a book from an author who talks about how he has become soft with age, about how he hides tears when he goes deer hunting, and that it's the well of nostalgia as he gets older, the press of things that remind him of other things making him get choked up.

Maybe that's it, the well of memories that I draw from, experiences I didn't appreciate while I was having them and now I hold so precious. Things like singing Counting Crows in the car with Katherine on sunny drives, or on our one and only camping trip after we graduated high school. I don't remember much about that trip other than that my then boyfriend was cranky with me and I seemed to be the only one really excited about going after a while, probably a function of my overbearing personality and my need to plan everything to the nth degree. What I do remember is throwing my arm over the two girls I loved the most at that time, siting on a rock in the sun, and singing with Kat at the top of our lungs to Counting Crows. Kat cannot sing, not even a little bit, and she doesn't let it stop her. I, to this day, cannot hear a Counting Crows song without hearing Kat singing it loudly and off key somewhere in the back of my brain. I also think of things that I didn't think much of at the time and now that stand out as "I should have known" moments, like the time that my long term boyfriend told me he loved me and another woman's name came out instead of mine in his half asleep haze. We broke up a couple of months after that, and at the time I didn't want to see how every sign had been pointing us in that direction for years and years, and that we didn't have any business being together in the first place, that he never really loved me. I think of sitting in a McDonald's with John on our first real "getting to know you" day on my 27th birthday, when we had to go get gas and I really wanted french fries. He knew of me, but didn't really know anything real about me since the information he had gotten was all a pack of lies spoon fed to him by my abusive ex. I didn't think of it much at the time, but as we actually began our relationship from the friendship we built, I remember thinking back to the expression on his face, the way he was looking at me through his lashes with his head tilted, so puzzled and so curious, and so obviously needing a friend just as much as I did. I think of watching John walk away from my little aparment in the park through a crack in my curtains, and how he'd always turn to see if he could catch me peeking at him. I didn't know why I did that, but now I see how I was in love with him before I even knew it, and know that the feeling that would creep into my heart and make it ache every time I waved him into his car was the longing I had for his breath, his voice, his silly laugh and chaos, and I never realized how quiet my house was until I heard his ridiculous car growl out of my driveway. I thought of days like yesterday, where I wanted to get things accomplished but John needed close, quiet time with me. I seethed at the inactivity while he contendedly nuzzled into my neck, and I caught myself wanting to snap and suddenly I'd remember Sundays with Christian, when I wanted to curl around him like a comma and watch him in the sunlight through my blinds, and he'd snap and bark about how doing nothing like that made him feel like I was wasting his day and his time, and how every time he'd give me an irritated sigh through his teeth it felt like a kick in the gut. I took a deep breath and looked at John's sweet face, and apologized for being so snappish about not getting anything accomplished, told him that I appreciated the time I got to waste with him. "But I spent time close to you, Steph. It wasn't wasted at all" was his reply, and I got a little giddy and heart melty.

All of this "nostalgia," this wealth of memories or welter of images that flash through my brain in a second, it seemed to pound at the outside edges of my chest this afternoon, watching the parade in the sun, while with each pound it rattled at the inside edge of my ribcage. I saw my past and hints of my future and hopes of boundless possibility in the faces around me, and beside me, through it all, sweet Katherine. And, you know, I got choked up.

Today is one of those rare occasions that I got to treasure a moment while I was having it. I stopped, I made myself still. I thought of the people that I love and the sun and this wonderful little town that I made my home, and my husband's beautiful eyes and gentle hands, and of all the people that helped me, whether through inspiration or trial, to be who and what I am in this moment. I felt blessed, truly and benevolently, for the bounty of beauty I get to take part in on a daily basis. Kat and I walked back to the Drop so I could get my truck and come to work here at the lab, and when we arrived there, my friends Jesse and Bethany were there, with their sweet 4 month old daughter. I held the baby, I laughed with people I like. I greeted my friend and business partner Michele and her bubbly teenage daughter, Tallis. I said hello to my friend Robert (who I rarely see) and shared a joke with Katy-Roo. I walked outside and waved to Amber and high fived my friend Michael who was enjoying the sun with his cigar. I drove here with the windows down, smelling the sun. Tonight, I'll pick Kat up from the movie she went to see while I'm at work, and we'll make dinner and find some mischief to get ourselves into. Tomorrow I will work my short shift and we'll spend the day in the sun, somehow. John will be home in a while and I'll get to give him a big kiss and see the smile I know is always on his face when I open my eyes as I move away.

Life really is good to me.