He Is Risen

In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.

And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.

His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:

And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.

And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.

And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.

And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word.

And as they went to tell his disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying, All hail. And they came and held him by the feet, and worshipped him.

Then said Jesus unto them, Be not afraid: go tell my brethren that they go into Galilee, and there shall they see me.

Now when they were going, behold, some of the watch came into the city, and shewed unto the chief priests all the things that were done.

And when they were assembled with the elders, and had taken counsel, they gave large money unto the soldiers,

Saying, Say ye, His disciples came by night, and stole him away while we slept.

And if this come to the governor's ears, we will persuade him, and secure you.

So they took the money, and did as they were taught: and this saying is commonly reported among the Jews until this day.

Then the eleven disciples went away into Galilee, into a mountain where Jesus had appointed them.

And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some doubted.

And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.

Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:

Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen.

Matthew 28

Only Love

All day I thought about love! Love, y'all. Yes, love.

Well ... except when I was forced to think about linear accelerators and flow meters and microwave technology and sequential delivery techniques and nuclear medicine and why in the sam hill won't people speak UP and/or stop talking OVER one another, and related topics ... all under subheading (i) entitled, A (tedious) Day in the Life of a Court Reporter Who is More Than Ready to Retire. (Will Write For Food.)

Love, love, love all day long on the radio. I was about nine years old when I demanded of Mama: what was the meaning of this?

But as is often the case, when I sortied at seven o'clock this morning for the ninety-minute drive to Florence, South Carolina, where it was a shoo-in I'd be bored practically into oblivion for most of the day reporting exceedingly technical deposition testimony, by way of preparation I thunk my sundry writerly thoughts to the lush, über-romantic strains of Josh Groban's seminal work, Closer.

He sings in French! He sings in Italian! He sings in English! And probably dances in several languages too! Most likely the boy can brush his teeth in Latin and make it sound like angels humming. So beautiful. You've heard it here before but I cannot get enough of songs like My Confession, You're Still You, Si Volvieras a Mi, Broken Vow, Per Te (For You), and Hymne a l'Amour. TrPs, trPs bon. As I wended my way, inspiration, love's canny cognate, followed like a faithful puppy.

As if the stellar (and cute) Josh does not provide sufficient impetus to induce romantic overload, you do not want to get me started on the improbably handsome and impossibly talented Carlos, David, Sebastian and Urs -- collectively known as Il Divo -- who make me go weak at the knees when they croon Unchained Melody in Italian ... not to mention Una Noche (One Night), Every Time I Look At You, Si Tű Me Amas, and The Man You Love. Yum Yum ... romance du jour, with extra whipped cream and candy sprinkles on top. I'm listening to them exactly now.

If there were a soundtrack to the dubious cinematic achievement that is mi vida loca, these songs would comprise it ... because I'm nutty about love. Isn't everyone?

This whole love thing actually started a long time ago. My mother loves music and loves to sing, and I caught that breathless adoration of music from her. When I was a little kid it seems to me we were always listening to the radio, both in the car and at home. The Ray Conniff Singers (Somewhere My Love), Bert Kaempfert and his Orchestra (Red Roses for a Blue Lady), Andy Williams (Can't Get Used to Losin' You), Perry Como (Till the End of Time), Frank Sinatra (Strangers In the Night), Eddy Arnold (Welcome to My World), Matt Munro (Walk Away), Nat King Cole (Answer Me), Barbra Streisand (People), Eydie Gorme (As Long As He Needs Me), Peggy Lee (Fever), Petula Clark (Don't Sleep in the Subway), Vikki Carr (With Pen In Hand) ... I would listen closely to the words (Mama already knew them all) and try to sing along as glamorously as she did.

One day the realization struck me with the force of a thunderclap: with the notable exception of songs like Roger Miller's King of the Road and England Swings, or Sergeant Sadler's Ballad of the Green Berets (these were the Vietnam years), or Jeannie C. Riley's Harper Valley PTA, ninety-nine point nine percent of these songs were about love! Love's joyous beginning, love's difficult road, love's sad end. Love, love, love all day long on the radio. I was about nine years old when I demanded of Mama: what was the meaning of this?

I like the part in the movie Father of the Bride where George Banks, watching his wife Nina descend the stairs on the day of their daughter's wedding, says something along these lines: "Years later I would not be able to remember what she wore, but I would never forget how she looked." Similarly, all these years later I cannot recall exactly how my mother worded her answer when I asked her why all the songs were about love ... but I will never forget what she said: "Well ... what else is there?"

Indeed.

The Wounds Of A Friend

Tonight I talked for the better part of four hours! I listened some too. And slurped ice cold Diet Pepsi garnished with big tangy lemon wedges, and ate overstuffed potato skins (lots of real bacon and melted cheddar on those) and a salad of mixed greens, mandarin oranges, dried cranberries, candied pecans, feta cheese, and chicken tender chunks dressed with balsamic vinaigrette. I also ate a soft warm yeast roll that resembled the ones Johnny Depp made to dance on the ends of forks a la Charlie Chaplin in Benny and Joon. Only this roll danced right on down into my tummy.

Your secrets are safer with her than a marsupial baby deep in the womby pouch of its mother.

It was a delightful evening spent at a local restaurant in the company of a dear friend of nearly four decades with whom I get the opportunity to visit no more than once a year. (An amazing woman who owns a thriving company, she lives in Atlanta and was in Columbia on business.)

Our waiter was a truly fantastic young man who understands that when old friends get a chance to enjoy a meal together, they want to be pampered while simultaneously being left alone to gab. He got the hang of this right off, anticipating our wants and treating us like royalty without interrupting the ceaseless flow of chatter and laughter. Before we left he asked us a little bit about ourselves and our history, and told us some of his own plans for the future. I wish you could have seen his smile! It was beautiful.

When you've been friends with someone since you were barely into your teens and now you're both past fifty, you know one another's stories and are able to communicate in shorthand. Lots of conversational threads get started but not necessarily finished because one thing just sort of segues into the next before you know or care. When either of you mentions a third party, no last names are necessary. It's awesome.

Your dear friend can be trusted with details you might not share even with a close family member. Sometimes you'll see a tear well up in her eyes and you know what it's about and she knows you know. Your secrets are safer with her than a marsupial baby deep in the womby pouch of its mother. Hers are safe with you too. There's an invisible force field of mutual supportiveness.

Have you ever noticed that we are apt to employ the word "friend" when another word -- such as "colleague" or maybe a more colorful term landing you on the relationship-o-meter somewhere between "acquaintance" and "enemy" -- would be more appropriate? It's analogous to claiming we "love" those Deppian yeast rolls when it would be more accurate to say we like them a lot (or even an awful lot).

In my day I have called a few people friend who I later found out really were something else. The way you know the difference is, you can tell your friend the truth about yourself (or they can figure it out on their own) and they can tell you the truth right back if you can't get it all by your onesie, and neither of you bats an eyelash. You don't expect perfection to begin with, and in addition you've learned that it is your individuality (and the respect each offers to the other) that has helped your friendship endure.

At any rate there's more to friendship than sharing an annual salad with a few personal anecdotes on the side. Friendship is unswerving belief in a person you have made a conscious decision to love and support to the very end.

Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. ~ Proverbs 27:6

Spring Play

The salmon-on-pewter atmosphere is appropriately thundery as raindrops splish into the pool where gathering grains of butter-hued pollen swirl on the surface in liquid paisley patterns. Andrew vacuumed when he was home last week and he has left the pump running; when I walk outside its low monotonous thrum reminds me of coming hot, hot summer days when music and laughter and the sound of waterplay will serve as a joyous counterpoint to sun beat and cicada buzz.

There is not a bad seat in the house.

I look around. The final curtain has dropped on a winter whose run was short and lacking in drama; tender shoots and timid blossoms peek 'round the velvety fringed folds like precocious junior thespians eyeing center stage. Greenness, colors both pale and vivid, and inimitable perfumes burgeon with all the suspense and promise of a brilliantly-acted prologue. Winged choristers watch from the sky and the branches, ears tuned to their staggered cues. There is not a bad seat in the house.

The warmth and the rain will each nourish what the other brings forth. Each bloom and blade, each petal and leaf, each butterfly and robin, each newborn thing in turn will share the spotlight, the glory, the applause and the rave reviews. The show will go on. The engagement will be long.

Heart-Shaped World

I was awakened harshly this morning out of a slumber that was deep, dark, soft, warm, and wonderfully ... weighty. The kind of sleep you dream about. But it wasn't the alarm clock that woke me ... it was the new telephone beside my bed. This phone is so new, in fact, that even though I grabbed both my glasses and the handset in time to discern via the nifty caller ID feature that it was my good friend Cecilia attempting to contact me, in the dim light I could neither see nor find the "on" button in time to actually take the call. No matter ... I knew why she had rung me up and I was sure she'd leave a message. With a sense of dread I dragged my weary bones from beneath my toasty covers and went to my office, shivering, to collect the voice mail.

I prefer to achieve full consciousness gradually, in stages.  Today I went from minus-zero to 100 in a scant 70 minutes. No small feat.

Within seconds the worst was confirmed: Cecilia (a fellow court reporter) was sick (I could hear it in her voice) and needed me to cover a deposition for her. Problem was, even as I spoke to her I was still asleep and she was telling me I had to be across town, wearing actual clothes, completely alert and oriented, prepared to take testimony, in just a little more than an hour and a half. Why she failed to give me a courtesy heads-up last evening (she got sick yesterday ... the flu) is something I shall have to take up with her when she gets well and treats me to lunch as she has promised to do.

But this morning there was no time for recriminations ... no time to eat my Wheaties ... no time to think. I morphed into a dervish on the spot (I can do that), furiously making coffee, showering, dressing, and transforming myself from exhausted person to dazzlingly professional court reporter in near-record time. Normally my getting-ready routine takes an hour and fifteen minutes after I have allowed ample time to wake up slowly, drinking at least one cup of coffee in a leisurely fashion while propped on my pillows.  I prefer to achieve full consciousness gradually, in stages. Today I went from minus-zero to 100 in a scant 70 minutes. No small feat.

See, TG and I are both confirmed night owls and last night we really tied one on. Neither of us had to get up especially early today (we thought), so after returning home from church we watched a few news shows, then got into a late program on the Biography channel, then puttered around reading and working on our computers, answering emails and such. Utter hedonism! It was one-thirty before I turned off the light and we talked for a while before going to sleep. So you can imagine the depth of my incredulity (not to mention angst) when that new phone's smugly informative electronic noise thingy intruded rudely on what I had expected to be an uninterrupted lie-in. Cruel! So cruel.

But your intrepid girl reporter got her act together. You would have been so proud! I didn't forget anything ... I wore a slip, brushed my teeth, put on all my makeup, and actually managed a halfway decent hair day. My shoes matched and my hosiery was snag-free. Fortunately I never lose my keys and when it comes to my work equipment I try to stay in a state of readiness, so all I had to do at liftoff time was grab my rolling bag and climb aboard my chariot ... after, that is, chasing Javier all around the house so that I could put him outside where I wanted him (spring has sprung and on nice days he lolls by the pool) instead of leaving him loose in the house where he is liable to transgress in ways as predictable as they are unacceptable.

I made it to the cross-town law firm on time and everybody there was so nice and seemed so happy to see me, and wasn't I the early one (???), and did I want a coffee (YES!), and we'd be starting right on schedule but in the meantime I was to just holler if I needed anything. So I got my stuff all set up and learned that our lucky deponent was a medical doctor ... a cardiologist as a matter of fact ... and that his friend, also a cardiologist, would be present as well. Great! I thought. After my stressful morning, if I have a sudden coronary at least someone in the room will be able to properly administer CPR.

Eight hours, a million questions, and 31 exhibits later, the lawyers couldn't think of anything else to ask the doctors and we all decided to call it a day.

I stopped by Wal-Mart on the way home (y'all know I can't drive by one without going in) to buy a birthday gift for a friend at church. I did not have to wait long at all in the checkout line, and a very nice lady was my cashier. Pleasantries were exchanged along with currency, and in no time I was on my way. As I neared the exit I saw Calvin. Calvin is the senior citizen greeter at the Wal-Mart nearest my home.

It is always uplifting to encounter Calvin and today was no exception. He's one of the kindest and most cheerful people you'd ever want to meet. He always has a positive comment, but not the obligatory type that rings false. I'm sure he has aches and pains and troubles but you'd never know it from his happy face. As for me, I was tired and even a little shell-shocked from my long day, but Calvin's face lit up when I neared him just like it always does. "HEY, little lady!" he called out, grinning from ear to ear. I grinned too, in spite of myself. I stopped to say hello, see how Calvin was doing, and ask after his family. He always says he's doing just great and the family are fine too, and I tell him I'm doing well and hanging in there, and he tells me to drive carefully home, and I promise that I will.

I'll bet if those cardiologists took a look at Calvin's heart and saw how big it is, they'd forget all about their legal troubles ... at least for a beat or two.

And now I must go and tryst with my dream date ... my pillow. The new phone, at least for tonight, has been relocated to the refrigerator.