That’s my new blogger name. Or should be. I’ve been drinking elevated levels of alcohol, and have discovered that I’m not a sorority girl anymore.
Last night it was champagne. I had a little extra left over from the Easter Brunch mimosas.
Can I say that Easter sucked? Ok, not entirely; there were our friends who joined us in lieu of O’s family. They are lovely people. G. has known me since before I was born, literally. I like to say that he is the first guy I ever slept with, and that I slept with his brother simultaneously.
Of course, we were five, three and two years old at the time.
G.’s wife is also a lot of fun. She brought plastic eggs and hid them in the yard for the boyos. It was very sweet.
I don’t even want to talk about O’s family. So I won’t.
Last night, I had my leftover champagne. O was out front with the boyos, watering our beautiful cherry tree. God, it smells so good. You can stand on the hill in our back yard, and the scent will sneak up on you, and kiss you like a shy lover. An ethereal caress.
I joined the fam out front. I was thinking about the meme I just posted. There’s a question concerning some nonsense about childhood candy you no longer eat. It got me thinking about things that I do miss from childhood.
That cherry tree. Looking at it reminded me of a tree from my grandparents’ front yard. A magnolia tree, so lovely and supple and smooth. A perfect climbing tree. I would scale its trunk, scamper into the branches and read a book. Or, I’d just lay on the limbs and watch the world go by.
My perfect green hiding place, complete with giant pink and white blooms in the late spring. I carved the initials of my first love on one of its branches. My cousins gave me no end of grief when they discover the heart and letters.
The tree is long-gone, as are my beloved grandma and grandpa.
But our cherry tree…
It looked like my long-lost magnolia. I put my bare foot on its bark, rough but not painful (the champagne helped) and lifted myself into the tree. My feet aren’t much good to me anymore, but my arms are strong. Strong enough to lift me up over everyone’s heads. God, the layout of the branches was so similar I expected to see my old carving. I climbed up into the white blossoms, into the good smell. My children below cheered me on.
Our across-the-street-neighbor came over and laughed. She’s a sweet lady, my mom’s age. O apologized for me. “This is what happens when I let her have a glass of wine,” he said.
“Champagne!” I corrected him. Details are important.
Tonight it’s an ’02 Chianti.