Ready to Play.

I woke up with a tight throat, my swallows wincing my eyes. But it's sunny out. And the birds are going nuts. 8:46 am. I'm sitting on the big couch, wet hair everywhere and in my bright pink bathrobe, flowers and all. My drapings are nothing like me. I hardly wear pink, except on my toes, and fat daisies are not a part of my wardrobe. But I love this robe--enough to wear it every day when I'm all clean. It sees the best part of me: the squeaky clean me, the undone me, the without pretending me. Just Claire. I like myself best that way.

Weekends. Soon every day will be as pure and quiet as my time on the weekends. Three days, baby.

I started a book and it blew my mind. It's the kind you don't have to read straight through, a good idea for me (Kite Runner, anyone?). And it's about writing. Turns out there are writers who write like me, just a lot closer to perfect. I learn from them. Specifying, intensifying, electrifying my words. And they are beginning to bloom, like the white creamy and soft pinky blossoms that line the streets. They are beginning to bloom.

Saturday. The Corner Pocket had a treat for us, my girls and me. We huddled on the couch and bit our lips to keep from throwing open the curtains and catching them in the act. The table was covered in Sharpies and white paper bags.We made them our own with flowers and baskets and grass. Each one was different, just like us, but they shared things too. We poured our little hearts into those paper bags--I felt six years old. We shrieked as we fought to get through the door first, down the stairs, around the corner, taking the hill in one giant bound. Yeah, that's right. We found those eggs and we didn't waste any time either. We were stuck with thorns and we climbed up the bricks. Kendra won with twenty-three. We laid out our spoils, traded, posed for pictures. We hung from a tire, one by one, and sent each other twirling through the air. We walked through gardens. We climbed a tree and just sat. We. Had a splendid time.

On the Sabbath, the sun shone. A blessed soul left cookies on our doorstep, loaded with oatmeal and chocolate. Only crumbs now remain. Michael Dowdle's strumming charged my brain as I schminkte mich. I took a little longer than usual, just because I could. My heart was thumping as I walked in, but I calmed down. Dang, a man in a suit. An olive green, knock you senseless suit. Yeah, I'm dating him. I harmonized with the girl to my right. I compared notes with the girl on my left. I learned about the Temple. I hugged an old friend--"old" meaning four months in a foreign city together. She asked me a question that made me blush. I wanted to shout the truth to her, tell her what I really think. But I was afraid. Instead I just brushed it aside, hiding my longing, professing to be content.

Brooke in her tie-dyed shirt and shorts of electric blue. She jumped around last night when no one was watching, but that's just because we were all asleep. Claire, he likes me! Oh, sweetness. He likes you, as he very well should. There's love a brewin'. Mmmm...springtime.

And then there was our walk. The evening was quiet and twilit. As we walked the sidewalks, up and down, I walked through my hometown. Wide porches to sit and unwind, tiny second story windows to spy through, wise trees for protection, bikes as lawn decoration. Summer is calling us and our youthful voices answer back. Come right along now. We are ready to play with you.