Whenever I see a trampoline, I am transported back to my grandparents’ backyard. I used to brag about my grandparents having an official Olympic-standard trampoline that allowed for extreme jumping, way higher than I would ever be tempted to try or be allowed to. I can picture me and my cousins sitting in a line along the blue padded edge waiting for our turn to flip and somersault. I can feel my giddiness as my grandmother would jump around trying to crack my egg as I flew up into the air. I can see my late uncle gracefully completing the best backdrops and swivel hips that I could ever imagine. The trampoline was the focal point for so many Easter and Christmas gatherings, and now it sits compacted down in the back corner of the garage, lonely and dusty. Us grandkids all got older and the trampoline less magical. One day soon, maybe the spark will light again with the great grandkids who are coming of age… and that old official Olympic-standard trampoline will gain bragging rights once more.
Joy when I saw her walking down the aisle that autumn day in October. Utter happiness when we welcomed our son and then our girl two years after that. Jealousy over a male coworker of hers. Gratitude when we realized we love each other enough to get through anything. Bittersweet when our kids went off to college one by one. Contented with our new way of live. Terrified by her prognosis. Distraught by all the wasted time and regrets. Pained at the poison leeching into her body. Acceptance of the nearing goodbye. Absolute sorrow at the loss of my other half. Astounded at the days and years still going by. Comforted by the memories of her. Peace when I look up at the sky to say hi.
Swaying yellow daffodils abound the rolling hills. They wave their delicate petals; the bright cheer in all the meadows.
Amid the pollinating bees, of course there are clumps of daisies. White to match the puffy clouds above, they’re here to share their love.
Pops of color here and there, purple lavender gives its share. Oh so lush, with their magical touch.
Dandelion petals blowing in the wind, they have a purposeful message to send. Listen to the wishes in the breeze, answer my prayers please.
Along the babbling brook, it may require a second look. Keep calm and happen upon, water lillies will guide you on.
Last but not least, a lone sunflower blooming in the east. Standing tall and strong, just know, you belong.
“Duck! Duck!”, my mind swirls back to when I was five years old sitting cross-legged in a circle with other squirming, jittering kids. This simple game gave me such anxiety, always hoping not to be the chosen one.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
I would silently pray to myself while the surrounding children were practically bursting at the seams for their chance at a glorifying chase.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
Me, though fit, wanted nothing to do with the spotlight and the embarrassing trip and fall that could accompany it. The potential of ridicule far outweighed my wish to enthusiastically participate in the activity with the rest of the group.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
My conscious comes back to the present. I am not the same shriveling, pathetic thing I once was. No, today, I am in control. Nobody laughs here except for me.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
I slowly make my way around the dark, musty room, lightly trailing my fingers across shoulders as I stroll.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
Hearing the pitiful whimpers and feeling the involuntary shudders brings a contented smile to my scar-riddled face. The world will soon know of all the “games” we have played over the years.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
“Duuuuuck.... duuuuck... duuck.. duck!”, I start circling faster, excitement building inside for it is MY time to shine.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
Suddenly, I slam to a stop and kneel down in front of my designated “bird” of the day.
“Please don’t pick me; please don’t pick me.”
“Goose.”, I say calmly, almost rationally.
‘She has lived a full life’, anyone around her would say. Just shy of 73 years old, she has two gracious children and three doting grandchildren, with a fourth on the way. Though lonely at times after the unexpected death of her husband six years ago, she holds steadfastly to her cherished momentos and fond memories of days well spent. Long-gone now, her parents provided her with a brimming support foundation through her youth and into her prosperous career as a web-developer. As an only child in a stable, wealthy family, she grew up educated with a humble viewpoint of the world. Following in her parents’ footsteps, she often sook the comfort of nature and outdoor exploration for times of both happiness and solace. Beginning only a few months after birth, her weekends and vacations were filled with activities under the sun. During the dreadful teenage years, the constant kayaking and hiking trips became more of a nuisance than source of pleasure. However, after college and what felt like a jarring thrust into adulthood, she realized how lucky she was for her lively, energetic parents and previous outdoorsy lifestyle. Working long hours in a city teeming with with an over-abundance of citizens, she longed for the rare opportunities she stole to walk among trees. She loved her job, but her heart ached to reclaim the same hobbies she had carelessly left behind. Thankfully, she went on to meet her future husband and re-located to a more suitable area for her interests. The years passed, and she vigorously tried to bestow her children with the same passions and environmentally-conscious mindset. This mission proved exceedingly successful as one son became a scientist specializing in reducing greenhouse gases and the other a lawyer to protect green spaces from ever-groping corporate hands. In present-time, she fills her days with tennis and community service functions, gathering with fellow organization members; the majority have been called friends for over a decade. Though her pace has slowed incrementally, especially with two knee replacements in recent years, she continues in her pursuits to stay active and healthy. She feels restless with the foreseeable, downhill-sloping future ahead. Even with everything she has accomplished, surely there must be something greater. Her bucket list desires have been crossed off one-by-one. She has completed a marathon, gotten a (small) tattoo, jumped out of a plane, and written a book. Her travel zest, instilled at an early age by her thrill-seeking aunt taking her to visit the awe-inspiring Machu Picchu, has calmed. Among her greatest troves of expeditions include studying abroad in Italy, climbing rugged Mt. Kilimanjaro, and cruising to the frigid waters of Antarctica. One item remains uncrossed, however. A grueling journey she has continuously dismissed for lack of time, and more probable, courage. No excuses left now; she will return to her wilderness home for one last, defining adventure, regardless of her age. Riley will hike the Appalachian Trail.
