Bright Red Dress and Sparkly Shoes

It isn’t just the unrelenting grayness of Maine in March and April. It’s that life in general gets muddy and dull sometimes, and if I don’t grab it by the throat and shake it up, it will drive me absolutely crazy.

In general, I think of myself as a cheerful person who delights in quirkiness, who is eager for adventure, who revels in the creative process, who has an eye for beauty and grace, even without possessing them myself. I’m always the first to spot a struggling crocus poking its purple head through the snow, or notice the perfection of my black cat’s silhouette in a sunny window. My quilts tend to be happy and chaotic jumbles of bright colors, and my clothing the same.

Sometimes, however, I look in the mirror and realize I’ve been wearing dark colors day after day. Or I find myself snapping with annoyance at the poor person who has the misfortune of stomping on my last nerve as I wade through task after necessary task in the endless to do list of life.

That’s when it’s time to look for a bright red dress and sparkly shoes. Yes, it’s a metaphor. Not like roses, exactly, but close enough. It means I want to dance instead of trudge. It means I want to be seen, acknowledged, and feel felt, instead of fading into invisibility. I want to laugh and touch and taste and laugh some more.

Yesterday David and I fired up the motorcycles for the first Maine ride of the year. We aimed them north, after first wallowing out of Kelley Drive’s sea of mud and through the snow and slush bank at the end of the road. For once, the sun was out, and the unwelcome new snow of a few days ago was bright enough to hurt the eyes. There was, of course, a lot of sand and gravel on the roads after the harsh winter, and anything that wasn’t pavement was knee-deep mud. It was cold, quite windy in spots, but I was ready with my merino and winter gear. And the Moxie orange bike of course.

Winding through the esses along the river, I couldn’t crank the throttle wide enough. I wanted to fly, and Miss Moxie delivered. The ice on the Penobscot sparkled like rhinestones, and even the mud looked pretty with sun shining on it.  After we got home, some of the gloom had lifted, and I could get back to work.

As I write this, it is snowing again, hard.

And even after yesterday, I still feel the need of that red dress and sparkly shoes. 

Anyone want to dance?