Manic Friday

I woke up on Friday thinking, "I'll paint a Jaguar above J's doorway today."

I laid in bed thinking about that thought as it echoed across the span of my skull and wondered where it had come from exactly. Unusually energetic I got the kiddo ready to go and his dad took him off to daycare and I slammed in an old Counting Crows CD, hauled out my paints and other accoutrement and dived in.

The CD is one I haven't listened to in eons and as I started painting, images from another decade paraded through my mind like whirling dervishes in slo-mo. I stood on a chair in the hallway and shook my booty and sang at the top of my lungs while I jabbed around on the sheetrock with Goldenrod, Basic Black, and Bark Brown. The jaguar took shape, crouching on its haunches on the moulding above the door, stretching its neck down to see what was below.

I must have been sensing danger at one point and looked up over my head (for no particular reason) and there was a spider letting itself down on a thin thread, presumably to land on the top of my head. I'm sure it was a brown recluse and I guided it promptly to the toilet where I wasted several gallons of water just because I'm paranoid that it will come back to life and try to eat me.

A few hours later, the jag was done. Previously I had painted grass around J's door, all prelude to entering his jungle/safari domain (which I haven't even started on). As I moved from Counting Crows to "angry white girl radio" (as my hubby calls it) I thought there surely must be more to do. I had to go on -- I was on fire with paint mania and the scent of old memories of an unfettered youth.

So, giraffe skin on the door it was. In my vanilla white house which is remarkably bland and untouched by creativity there is now a hiccup at the corner of our hallway where it makes a hard left turn. And there is where J came running, through the living room, across the kitchen, down the hall and slammed to a stop and stared. His finger pointed and he said, "oh!"

But after the surprise, what a gorgeous, happy smile. And another gorgeous, happy smile the next morning when I woke him up and he saw his giraffe patterned door. I love to hear his tiger roar when he imitates the jag above the door. It makes me want to paint every inch of the house, just to make him smile, just to hear him laugh.

Duck a la Jalapeño

Ducks like jalapeño potato chips. Well, at least the ones that own Gee Lake, the man-made effort that’s contained on one side by the Performing Arts Center on the campus of Texas A&M University-Commerce.

I discovered this little-known fact on a fresh, sunny day last week. Ink blue skies and no clouds in sight. Ground soggy and rich. It was spring time before spring. And students and ducks alike were wandering out to enjoy this early gift.

James picked me up for lunch. We made a quick stop at a nearby candle shop where we bought homemade jar candles labeled Twigs & Berries, Apples & Oak, Orange Clove and Satin Sheets. I opened the jar of Satin Sheets and offered James a sniff.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” he said.

“It smells just like you,” I whispered in his ear.

“How do you keep your hands off me,” he answered drawing me to him with his hand on the small of my back.

We flirt well and often. I like that. I need that.

We picked up some Subway sandwiches and chips, then headed for the lake. This was an unplanned venture, so we were without the normal picnic provisions. No soft, worn wool blanket. So we spread out our jackets on the ground in a soft spot in the grass close to a young tree tired of holding back its buds of white blossoms.

Before we had a chance to unwrap our sandwiches, mine piled high with every vegetable and pepper available, his more moderately decorated with tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers, a squadron of ducks waddled in line toward us.

“This is going to be fun,” I said almost in unison with James’, “Oh, no.” It’s all in how you look at it. And before it was all over, our laughter told the truth.

They were some brave ducks. They knew what they wanted and were used to getting it. They encircled us, wagging their tail feathers and bobbing their heads. I found it delightful. James was worried about his sandwich.

There was one little drab duck. She was timid, but committed. I don’t actually know if the duck was a female. But its petite frame and dainty movements said little lady. The way she tilted her head to look at me coyly reminded me so much of me, I am convinced of her female authenticity. She patiently sat about a foot to my right. I offered her bits of my sandwich bun which she gently nibbled from my fingers. She had the sweetest little ducky face I’ve ever seen.

Others weren’t so tentative. A hefty orange-billed, downy white duck waddled up behind me and pecked me on the back until I tossed some crumbs his way. Inhibited in no way, he continued this dance until James shooed him away repeatedly.

There is something magical about connecting with animals. I am fascinated by what happens when they attempt to communicate with me. I would love to know what they see, what they think when they look upon me, towering not so gracefully above them.

It must have been the testosterone. A caddy bird that had been hovering near James lowered his head and ran forward hissing and snapping. He got a few good tugs at the leg of James’ Lucky jeans before James had enough. “Okay, that’s it,” he said. He picked up a stick – oh maybe five inches long – and chased the ducks away, his arm moving in an arc through the air. (I promised not to mention how James nearly jumped into my lap when this aggressive little fellow came charging.)

For all our wriggling and shoo-ing, they didn’t give up. They waited it out even to the last of the chips -- jalapeño potato chips. I scattered the crumbs and stepped back for the troops. Without hesitation, they pecked up the scraps. They turned toward the lake and, rather quickly it seemed, headed to the water …perhaps on their way for a drink.

Falling Fast

A week from today, I’ll turn 36. That’s 315,569.26 hours of living. That’s as long as LIFE magazine existed as a weekly publication. That’s the same age as the city of Tagbilaran, the capital of the island paradise of Bohold in the Philippines. I’ll be the same age as Ice Cube, Steffi Graf and ‘adult’ star Gina LaMarca.

On June 9, 1969, the day of my birth, the U.S. Supreme Court in Brandenburg v. Ohio held that a state may not penalize speech that is not intended to cause immediate injury. Thank God. Where would I be without that ruling?

A look back in time on the same date reveals some interesting facts – Nero, emperor of Rome, died in A.D. 68 and Charles Dickens fell silent in 1870. If reincarnation does exist, chances are I’m Nero… with much nicer legs.

I’ve been thinking. I wasn’t nearly as speculative last year at this time. Thirty-five would seem the prime time for that. But, no -- it’s thirty-six that’s making me quiver. And not just in the sense of shaking with fear. There are things quivering all over my body that just were not meant to do so. I’ve chosen to refer to this phenomenon as quivering instead of jiggling. It somehow sounds a bit sexier. And these days, I’m grasping at sexy like a life raft in shark-infested waters.

I can’t really think about anything I’ve done in the past 36 years. There were those 4,300 days of sleep. I vaguely remember working at a myriad of jobs – all just to keep me able to manage the really important things in life. You know…men.

I didn’t write the great American novel. I didn’t find a cure for cancer. I didn’t run for office. I didn’t make the silver screen. I didn’t serve the poor and sick in Africa. I didn’t rescue a well-trapped toddler. Really, it’s enough to make you want to jump out of a plane.

And so, I think I will. A tandem jump for sure, safely attached to a chute and an expert instructor. But, wild and dangerous and thrilling all the same. This will be a leap into the next segment of my life – a life of fearlessness, focus and commitment no matter what comes at me.

*Shannon and her love, James, are scheduled to take the plunge (out of a plane!) at Skydive Dallas the weekend of June 18.