Clambake

Fiery orange, electric clementines, sweet peppers and non-standard poppies. A lacquered Milanese chair, the scream as one descends Space Mountain, the frenzy to take one’s clothes off before a lake dive after the game.

That’s right, feeling vigorous and full of options. Internal flame operating to full capacity. Taking a nosedive into a pool of optimism. Not expecting things from others, nor assuming I deserve favorable conditions. Just feeling even keeled and like I am up to the challenges ahead. That might just be sufficient for now.

New York is still experiencing a prolonged chill, but internally, I have made the decision to ignore this altogether. My powers of denial will not be outdone by nature’s unkindness. I will come out of this unscathed and will eat warm pozole in your face. Smokey chilies, like exorcists reporting for duty, will help me get the warmth going.

My son thinks I rehearse poses in the mirror when I ask him not to come into my room and wake me early in the weekend mornings. Maybe I should set my alarm earlier and try to catch him in that act. I look forward to the fun times ahead with him as he grows into more of a peer than a charge and mourn the distance he will inevitably take from me once his friends start to matter more.