Today the temperature soared to thirty, nary a cloud drifted in the sky, and brilliant sunshine streamed down, melting the massive snow piles and inches of ice. To riff on country singer Deanna Carter, "I still remember when 30 seemed cold." And I have to disagree with former midwesterner T.S. Eliot--February, not April, "is the cruelest month." Everyone I know in the frozen tundra or nearby states reached the point of utter frustration, impotent rage, and/or depression weeks ago. But. Today the sun, the sky, the warmth called me outside for the first time in weeks.
As I walked the treacherous sidewalks, seeking one foothold after another, I found myself drawn to the layers of ice ensconced between inches of water. The ice bubbled, cracked, and shifted under my feet, and a fresh stream of water flowed upward. How like my heart, at moments in my life, beginning to thaw from the inside and out, with a translucent, cracked resilient layer of ice in the middle. I also thought of that wonderful scene in *Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind* where Joel and Clem venture out onto the ice and first share an intimate moment, surrounded by major fractures, but buoyed up by thick layers of frozen river water.
To boost sagging morale at work, I've baked chocolate chip cookies for my colleagues. And, in anticipation of my upcoming birthday, I've baked two dozen chocolate cupcakes to tuck into my overflowing freezer. I envision a pink meringue frosting with pink coconut gracing their naked tops. And now my home smells of home, of sweetness, of bliss.