are you there, dog? It's me, kerensa

There is a scent in the air tonight, and while it is a little chilly and damp, I recognize it as the smell of summer. When I was younger, my family and I lived on a lake high on a mountain top...miles from civilization. (cue the banjo from deliverance) The winters were harsh, sometimes we would be unable to drive down our road, so we would be forced to trudge through feet of snow for half a mile before getting to our house, only to realize the oil truck also couldn't get down the road, and thus we were without heat. There were several times that our cars skidded off of slick roads, and countless playdates lost because parents did NOT want to venture the roadtrip to drop off their child. As a very young kid, the toboganning and ice skating were enough to make winter bearable, as was the warmth of christmas. But as I got older, it became more and more difficult to accept the way of life the great Northeast had to offer (Hence, the trip to ASU for college) . I longed for summers, whic

With one child, the world is your proverbial oyster. You still own time and can blissfully waste minutes, ignorant to how quickly they will eventually come to pass. You find milestones in simple things, really... the first time they wear shoes, the first time they uncurl their tiny fists to wrap around your finger. You dress the child ever so carefully, donning adorable sunhats when the first days of spring peek around the corner, slathering sunscreen at the mere hint of a less than overcast day, tiny, perfect socks go on clean and shiny feet. You remember to bathe your child consistently, paying special attention to delicate parts and cradle caps and stork bites and chunky folds of pink marshmallow skin. You sing to them while you change them, and take care to Desitin those sweet, forgiving, ever- wet parts of theirs, and to buy the best diapers, the best wipes and the most expensive shampoo. You retain all words spoken to you by the pediatrician, and may even write them in a handly l

She stands before the tiny mirror attached to her door, and turns from side to side. Her hair is not quite as she planned, and the dress is not the one she imagined, but at this particular moment, while her hemline swishes like the spring breeze outside, it is all inconsequential. She bought the tickets the day they went on sale in the cafeteria, the money earned at her after school supermarket job dwindling with each preparation for this day. A dozen stores were ransacked, in search of the dress she envisioned, and had pictured herself in every day for the two years she had dated him. A deep passionate purple, off the shoulder, and just lovely. The one she ended up with was what one may call last ditch, at the last store, and more than a little disappointing- a bit of foreshadowing of her wedding. But she still feels young, and beautiful, and optimistic and nervous: all the required emotions of a girl at her prom. The neighbor girl who was paid to dress her hair has left, and her mot

Sometimes, it takes one mere note, a single line or verse, and you are immersed. Heartbreak, nostalgia, joy, hope...they all creep up like a serpent through your soul when an amazing song is on. And obviously, music is purely objective: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. A truly good song will haunt you, will raise the tiny hairs along the nape of your neck, your arms like static on a warm night. You may feel as though your heart is growing with the crescendos, beat by beat. I have been known to sob along with a particularly relevant song: Children by Robert Miles when Rhiannon was small, Nothing Else Matters by Metallica during a nasty breakup, Heaven by Beam and Yanou at the wedding of a childhood friend, Breathe Me by Sia at the finale of 6 Feet Under, etc... Tonight, I am listening to Love Story redone on cello and piano by Jon Schmidt. A song I am quick to change when on the radio by a droning Taylor Swift, whose lyrics are as cheesy as my infamous chimichangas, but when play