The Crocus is Blooming
The purple crocus is blooming. The Chiefs lost but it wasn’t that big a surprise. By the end of the first quarter you knew the die had been cast. Oh well, my son and I enjoyed Pizza and homemade cookies.
I am finally finding my Cherokee center. Which simply means things are coming back into focus. Not perfect, but enough to allow waking-up in anticipation of an enjoyable day. One of the companies I dropped finally sent a refund. Like in the Wizard of Oz I went to the beauty collage and was fixed up like a shinny new penny. I no longer resembled the “Shaggy DA”.
I felt so good at lunch with my sister, afterward, we sinned….ice cream, caramel and apple-crisp. So sinfully rich it took two days to get my sugar back where it belonged….but it was so good! I did not feel guilty for enjoying myself. He will be gone a year the 18th. I have had a long, frustrating, irritating and educational year. I have had my ups and my downs. I have wanted to scream in frustration and yell at him….”look at the mess you left me!”
There is no guidebook for widows. The Bible does have clues and promises. From this frustration came my book” Devotions for Widows” It now resides at the editors desk awaiting final approval or rejection.
The crocus is blooming, and I enjoyed my day out. He was there at the Beauty Collage, his ghost instructing the stylist just how to cut his hair to cover his bald spot. His fussing if his mustache and eyebrows didn’t look perfect.
I am becoming comfortable with remembering those 45 years we had, the enjoyable times. The fun of stuffing the kids into back packs and climbing in the Garden of the Gods. I can smile thinking about my eldest keeping a bite of link sausage in her mouth. She rode on her daddy’s back, horse-backing the trails and never spat it out or swallowed it. I think daddy finally disposed of it.
There was the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo and the Wax Museum where Lincoln lay breathing, the covers going up and down. We toured the Freedom Train, Van Briggles pottery and watched the mule races at Cripple Creek.
There were the good years at Crowder College and shared classes. The fun of art shows and having good teachers. Our photography teacher was actually at Robert Kennedy’s assassination, shooting photographs. We shared miles of Memorial Day jaunts, walking through endless ancient burial plots. We shared Avon, writing conferences and he was the President of Joplin’s writers group.
From the fog of those painful last years are emerging good memories of before his body was cruelly ravished by Agent Orange. The cycling of the crocus brings healing. Next year who knows? The Chiefs may or may not win. It’s disappointing, but, that’s life….we live with it...one hand on the Bible….eyes focused on heaven. The crocus are blooming and life goes on.
- Sandy Jordan is a local writer and a founding member of The Crowder Quill literary magazine. She writes a weekly column, Bits and Pieces.