yes, the walk was worth four dollars.

So it saves you a dollar to live in MD.

Well, at least if you park your car in Fair Hill. Next time I go to MacDonald’s with a Marylander (and there are a few in my own family), thanks to Fair Hill, I think they should probably buy me something from the dollar menu. And maybe even a couple of things if they’ve been there more than once.

But yes, today I went to wander around by myself in Fair Hill. I almost didn’t, though. I almost went to the gym. But then I saw how the sun was shining in a glorious manner and, well, that it was being featured right now! and since you never know if that nice little off-broadway show I like to call The Sun is on a limited run or not, I decided to go see for myself what it was up to.

And anyway, buildings can be so predictable. So can running around in circles, for that matter. And since a friend of mine has recently–and so very kindly–suggested that I might be obsessed with my phone, I did something very gutsy.

I left it behind.

That’s right.

And I was all, who’s obsessed now? But it was a rhetorical question, which ended up being a very good thing since nobody was around to be like, not you!

I did, however, grab my camera (since nobody had mentioned me being obsessed with that) and one of the first things I had to capture was this sign.

What’s funny about me is that sometimes even my thoughts are sarcastic. I read the sign and I smiled a sad little smile as I pondered how amazing it would be if the sign said something about not putting yourself in a position to be lied to and wounded over and over again. And it was with some disappointment that I read something about locking your car and blah blah blah because getting your stereo stolen looks like a walk in the park right about now; I thought we were talking victims here, people.

But then I walked right past that sign and I let my thoughts compete with my legs for miles per hour. And I suppose I looked like this–

while I was walking around, and the reason you need to know that is, well, maybe you don’t. Need to know it, I mean. But I will still ask–do you see that warmest of wraps I am wearing? It’s something that was specifically made for wearing outside in rugged mountainous terrain. And wouldn’t you know it, but I am pretty much always cold in my parents’ house. That’s right. So dinner usually goes something like this:

Me: Mmmm, this food is really good, mom; and pop, can we throw some heat all up in here?
Mom: Thanks, Jess.
Jenna: It’s not cold.
Pop: Why don’t you go put your coat on, Jess?
Me: Because I’m going through a divorce, pop–so CAN THE HOUSE AT LEAST BE WARM????

Okay, so I’ve never said that last part. But haha, maybe I should.

And instead of manipulating my pop into turning up the heat with the ‘D’ word, I got that wonderfully fleecy thing, my Warm Snuggly, as I like to call it.  And now dinner goes something like this:

Me: I’m warm, I’m warm, I’m warm…

So yes, isn’t that good?

But I was walking, all warm in my Snuggly, and I was just thinking. It’s nice to not be so afraid of my thoughts anymore. I’m starting to trust them again; I let the leash go a little longer again, I guess.

But when I saw this tree, I thought me too.

And I wondered if the morning of his demise was just like any other. I wondered if he had any idea that by the end of the day he’d be chopped down to just a fragment of what he’d been, that his roots would be mostly pulled up and exposed for just about anyone to see. And sure, he was still among all his other tree friends, but he had changed so drastically that he wasn’t quite sure what to do at their parties anymore; wasn’t quite sure what to say when everybody else was talking about their beautiful leaves and how close they’re feeling to the sun these days.

And I thought about how just the other day I was having lunch with some nice new friends and we’re girls, you know–we talk about our men and how we met and wow, isn’t it so nice that everything worked out perfectly? And there they were, sharing their pretty stories and suddenly it was like I had amnesia. Only it was all wrong, opposite or something, because instead of trying to talk about it yet not being able to remember a thing, here I was remembering so much, but biting my tongue because relating my story of how we met doesn’t quite feel worth the breath it would take.

And still, I see things that make me pause. Things that speak of mystery. Things like a tree who looks like her nanny came and braided her pigtails during the night.

And well, life can’t be all bad if we’re talking trees with pigtails, right?

But it’s strange.

And if you’d like proof of this, then I only need to reach into my purse and pull out the kind of letter written to the man I married that a wife should never see. I have been carrying it around for these past few weeks, sort of by accident because I simply keep forgetting to get rid of it.

And no, it’s not from me.
And no, I won’t tell you how I got it.
And no, Jerry Springer still has not called. Fingers crossed.

And to make the matter even stranger, the other day I was driving with my friend when suddenly he was on the phone, needing to write down an address for a gig we were going to play. And so I reached into my purse, grabbed the folded up letter, and gave it to him to scrawl down the words 2nd and Front.

He handed it back to me like it was just an old piece of paper anyway, actually even better–an old piece of paper made useful cause now it told us where to go and play some music.

And I think that’s like redemption and I think I will make a habit of scrawling down better words in place of the ugly ones that have hurt me so much.

And then, something else: the water at Fair Hill.

It was like a kid who had just gotten out of class, it was running so much. And all of the little gurgling sounds it made was good news, indeed.

And if this isn’t a sign of spring nearing, I don’t know what is.Because all of the sudden I looked down on the path and saw these two perfectly good gloves tossed aside.

And I can just picture it. Someone, maybe Mother Nature herself, is walking there, still bundled up, still bracing herself for the cold and the wind and that chill that grabs at your fingers and toes, especially. And maybe she looks to the left just like I had done; maybe she notices those little daffodil shoots pretending to be nonchalant about nosing their way through the earth this March. As if they hadn’t been waiting all winter long.

Come on, daffodils, stop your fronting.

But then she feels the sun, and feels it stronger, even, than the cold. And so in one of those rare times when caution is better left to the faint of heart, she strips off her gloves and goes on her merry way, confident in the approach of Spring.

And confidence. There’s a word to challenge me. Cause it doesn’t change a thing about what’s happened, but it might just change everything about what will. And I think I’d like to take my gloves off, too.

Confidently.

I think I’d like to say that something warmer, something even filled with flowers is coming my way also.