Thursday, June 9, 2011

A day in the life.

If I have to resign myself to working 7 days a week again, at least I can enjoy patio season with the best of them. Sure, I'm not one of the halter-clad-big-glass-wearing-cocktail-drinking-minxes, with my legs stretched out in the patches of sun poking through the yellow and white awnings, but I'm still there, breathing in the herbs crowding our little window-box garden, and soaking in the tulip colors of a Salt Lake City Spring.

Honestly, there is nothing prettier than an unexpected bloom, when your tables are sucking down iced tea like schools of fat, slippery fish.

Commonality, we call it. It's a place where needy, pompous restaurant guests and over-worked, bitchy servers can all find some middle ground. We all adore the flowers. And we all smile at the breeze, even when it blows coarsely ground pepper flakes into our eyes over a spinach salad.

When I'm not working, I'm obviously outside playing some sport or being active in some capacity. This year hasn't been quite as adventurous (yet). I had a profound realization just the other day as I ditched a soccer game and sat contentedly in my car in a grocery store parking lot, eating a Mediterranean olive mix, while blaring music with my moonroof open. It occurred to me that I'm lazy and whimsical, opting for leisure at any chance I get this year. It's depressing. I'd much rather be the hiking, biking, blading, wading girl that I was last year.

It'll come. Right? As long as these blasted clouds stop rolling in and looming on the horizon. I mean, impending thunderstorms make for spectacular camera ops, but there comes a day in every persons life when they'd like to feel a bit less like Eyore and more like Tigger. And I hate Winnie the Pooh, but sometimes if a reference works, a reference works. Who DOESN'T want to have boundless energy, bouncing of the walls and feigning ignorance to life's woes?! And it's a tiger, even if it's a trivial one, for godssakes. Yep, I want to be Tigger. Just for today.

But if there's one thing we know about Christie, it's that gardening makes me happy. So, there I was, at Wasatch Gardens, loading up my new (used) red Mazda hatchback with supplies. Upon sending the picture above to Julie, via iPhone, she replies, "Ok, hipster, I only want to vomit a little." My conventional Utahn sister will never understand...

Quirky or not, I am who I am. I once had a boyfriend who referred to me as a sun-goddess. Much more flattering than a hipster dufus, it kindof stuck. Not that I think I'm necessarily goddess material, but I do worship the sun, like any strawberry, freckled, desert girl probably shouldn't.

But when the sun loves you, it loves you and there's a lot to be said for mutual affection.

So whether or not I'm a lazy SOB, I at least drag my arse away from potato chips and over-stuffed couches long enough to spend the extended hours of daytime frolicking at the park.

Topaz, for one, couldn't be happier. That little girl is a climbing machine. I think it's because Spiderman is her alter-ego.

Post-park, we make faces as a mockery of the fun we just had. This is the point where Topaz is so tired and delirious that she's a snap second from hysterical laughter and an onslaught of tears at any given moment.

I, on the other hand, have just realized that nobody thinks I'm a sun-goddess anymore and that if I'm to be worshiped ever again as such, I must work on my powers of seduction.

Then suddenly, I no longer care and just lay back in the sun like it's the only place in the world I want to be anyway.

That is, until Friday nights when the sun goes down and it's time to dance amid strobe-lights and misters.

But the party-girl in me will always kick off those heels and wipe away that body shimmer early Saturday morning for a walk among the blossoms with my dog. It's the story of my life: no my feet don't hurt, no my head isn't still pounding and yes I can function like a normal person.

Sometimes, domesticity is all we have. Me, Topaz and the animals that cohabit this space, it's not a bad gig. And Max is pretty much the most adorable feline who ever adopted a laundry basket as his own.

But we all know that alllllll work and no play would make for a very, very sad Christie. Luckily, there are flowers and sunshine and animals and...

Topaz. I heart Earth.

Creatures great and small

Wellsville is such a vast sprawl to find oneself lost in. It's a picture of grasses and valley, framed only by mountain and sky. Mountains alone can make a person feel small. And when they take your breath away, standing on their summit, they alone make you feel like you could conquer the world.

But I don't really want to rule the Earth. Not really. I want to visit barnyards and cow-pastures for Easter, and relish the Springtime when animal babies are sweetening life just that much more.

That small degree, a centimeter really, of measurement, where fuzzy innocent against your cheekbone can flutter your senses and make you feel like the world is a decent place. You can't NOT smile when holding a tiny bunny.

You can't NOT squeal at the sight of a miniature, miniscule turtle---so small and darty that if dropped on the ground, it MUST be chased!

If I could steal that teeny little turtle, I think my life would be complete. I'd hold it forever and poke at it for hours in endless, simplistic-minded fun.

Really though, Baby Animal Days in the Northern Hemisphere of this grand old pioneer conquered state has become a tradition in the 5 short years that Topaz has been on this planet. It's fun for me, it's fun for her, which is essentially what I chalk up to a win/win situation. It's nice to have that in common---our love of animals. While my passionate protection of things great and small may outweigh that of my kidlet's, it's only a matter of time before she becomes a marine biologist, or a starving student of Veterinary Medicine, or something equally convicted and scientifically educated. Right? Ok, so perhaps I'm projecting. I'd be happy if Topaz grew up to be a finance analyst at some boring, pretentious firm, just so long as she adopted the occasional senior golden retriever or 5-toed kitten. Ahhh, to be a dreaming, conniving mother---it's certainly an amusing pass-time...