What a difference a day makes.
Yesterday I was whining about needing to get away.
Yesterday it was cold and gray and rainy and it felt like it had been forever and would be for another forever and maybe another forever after that.
But then there were margaritas and hope.
This morning there was a thick fog. The girls complained about it on their way to the bus stop, but I knew it was gonna burn off. It was a very optimistic fog.
Oh, in case there was any confusion, the fog was a real weather condition. Not the condition of my own sorry brain on account of the margaritas. Just saying.
So it burned off, as I knew it would, and as the day went on, the chill burned off, too.
Soon the pull was too strong. Housework be damned, prematurely aging skin be damned, Momma's gettin' her some Vitamin D.
So I stepped out onto the deck and I let the sunshine hit my face for the first time in days. What my neighbors saw:
A middle-aged fat chick in a T-shirt and jeans. And rollers. I was gonna let that sunshine heat set my hair. God's blow dryer.
What my minds eye saw:
A nubile young goddess emerging from a cave and basking in the first true golden rays of spring. And even though she was previously ensconced in a cave, her long hair is perfect and smooth and her gauze gown has nary a wrinkle. Both billow gently around her in the warm spring breeze.
Both of us, the middle-aged fat chick and the nubile goddess settled into the chaise lounge for a very brief nap before the Jr. High bus would arrive to bring an end to this quiet communion with the sun.
As we - I - closed my eyes, the rays felt even more intense.
I listened to the sounds of birds heralding the arrival of spring. And also cars and dogs and motorcycles. Because the cave opens out on the suburbs. It didn't matter. It was all good.
I allowed myself to sink deeper into it - allowed the warm sun on my skin to push me into a deeper sense of hypnotic bliss. Now many, in this state, might have imagined themselves back in goddess form. Or perhaps they'd transport themselves to an exotic isle. Or both. Truth be told, sitting here in my conscious mind, I'm surprised I didn't do the same thing. But in the state of complete submission to the rays and their will that I found myself in, that's not where I went.
I went to my mom's house. My parents house. The house in which I grew up.
A different suburb. A smaller, quieter suburb. The lounge was on the side of the house because there were woods in the back. And that nubile young goddess thing? Well, two out of three ain't bad. Not bad at all. The bikini was red, the belly was taut and tan. The boobs were perky and stayed in place even though I was lying down. Cellulite was not in my vocabulary. And my biggest concerns - well - hell - all these years later I can't remember a one of 'em. So they must not have been very important. And I soaked up the sun. Melanoma wasn't in the collective vocabulary then, either. I was probably slathered in baby oil. The portable radio was tuned to my favorite AM station and I would roll over to turn it up when 'my song' came on.
So real was this transportation to the past that - even once I was awake and knew I had to head back into the house to greet the kids as they came in from school - I was a little taken aback by my reflection in the patio door.
A middle-aged fat chick in jeans and a T-shirt and rollers.
It was nice to be a young nubile bikini babe goddess for a little while. Maybe the sun gods will see fit to let that dream visit again.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meatloaf that needs to be put in the oven.