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| Photo by Gina McDaniel |
During Sunday's game between the Boston Celtics and Miami Heat, an exterior shot of the Boston stadium showed a patch of jonquils. I have it on good authority there were snow flurries not two days earlier. I take heart from the jonquils and how each growing thing, us included, pushes tenaciously toward the sun, toward dreams and sources of nourishment in all its forms, some of which may seem nearly unreachable. I also took heart from the Celtics, called a team of old men (which they also call the Lakers), with too many players on the disabled list, winning handsomely. Of course, being an age that would allow me to be the mother - by a wide margin - of the team's oldest player, probably Kevin Garnett at 35, approximately, casts the notion of old in a different light.
Somewhere in my Monday morning internet rambles, I saw the reminder to never stop dreaming. As my mind shrieks about a split infinitive, I ignore it and continue. My philosophy could best be described as "We never know." The will, the determination, not only to survive but to flourish inspires me, in flora, in fauna. We don't ever know what comes next, which may be the single best and most difficult thing about this existence. Every moment becomes an act of faith, or perhaps you would call it optimism. Life is a cliff-hanger, one of the old Saturday morning serials at the 10-cent Early Bird movie. I intend to keep showing up. I want to see what happens next.
