Skip to main content

Springtime in Oklahoma

From the spot by my grill in the backyard, there’s a beautiful view of the moon rising over the trees.

I spend a lot of time there, outside, listening to the steaks sizzle and watching the smoke drift across the warm evening breeze.

Around me, the grass is making a quick transition from brown to green and the neighborhood kids have put down their cell phones long enough to play a little basketball before they go to bed.

The little lady a few houses down is trimming her yard with a pair of pruning shears or, maybe, a big pair of scissors — I can’t be sure.

Whatever the tool, her yead is Better Homes and Gardens perfect.

In garages throughout our neighborhood, mothers have drug out the empty blue plastic tubs; they’ll be filled with winter clothes, while the T-shirts and the shorts which were once there will be moved to the front of the closet.

It’s springtime in Oklahoma.

The flowers begin to bloom and the bartlett pear trees which line south Lincoln Boulevard — in front of the Capitol building — look like their branches are filled with huge cotton balls.

The Legislature has reconvened, determined this year to save our souls, and solve every problem facing the residents of the Sooner State.

They are the primary reason for the vast expanse of hot air which has settled over central Oklahoma.

But even then, the nights are still cool, the breeze is soft and warm sunny days are now the norm.

Here at the office, I see more colorful dresses and the occasional knit shirt. The view from the balcony draws more people.

And my desire to lie under a large tree and spend the afternoon, sleeping in the sun is almost overwhelming.

When I was a kid, I remember asking my father which of the seasons was his favorite. He smiled, pulled me close to him, and said each one. He said, for him, the joy came in watching each season come and being around to witness the change. “That’s how you know God’s up there, lookin’ out for us,” he told me.

I find comfort in that idea.

I find peace in knowing that somewhere in the vast expanse of blue, the Almighty is in control and he’s making sure the Earth is spinning just as it should.

I also find happiness in knowing that the view from heaven must be pretty spectacular; because here, below, on a warm spring night, with some really nice steaks sizzling on the grill, the view of heaven is pretty spectacular, too.

Comments

Anonymous said…
I enjoy the imagery. Good twist at the end, too.

Popular posts from this blog

Ex-pastor suing Moore's First Baptist Church

MOORE — A former official with Moore’s First Baptist Church is suing the church for his termination, and for “spreading false rumors about his mental health throughout the community,” court documents show. Jimmie D. Lady, the church’s associate pastor, filed the suit in Cleveland County District Court last week seeking $10,000 in actual damages and $10,000 in punitive damages for “severe emotional distress and mental anguish as a result of statements made about him when his job was terminated.” Lady’s attorney, Andrew Hicks of Houston, claimed church officials terminated Lady for being bi-polar, then spread rumors about Lady in the community. “Although a man of God, Dr. Lady cannot ignore the dramatic, adverse effects these untrue and unfair accusations have had on him and his family,” Hicks said. “First Baptist Moore’s efforts to tarnish Dr. Lady’s reputation have threatened his family’s livelihood. Through this suit, we hope to restore Dr. Lady’s good name.” Church officials denied...

If I were a chef...

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea...

Dear Daniel...about that graduation

Dear Daniel: By the time you read this, your graduation ceremony will be over. You and 500 or so of your friends have reached the first big intersection on that road we call life. Congratulations. As I watched you sit at the Ford Center last Thursday, I couldn’t help but remember your childhood. Granted, you are not my son, but instead, you’re the son of my closest friend. And, therefore, you are family. You were only 3 months old with I met your father. We both went to work for the Oklahoma Legislature and both found ourselves stuffed into this tiny office with no windows and very little space. Your dad had been there, maybe two days, at the most, when he told me he was going to be taking several weeks off. I wasn’t too happy about that. I’d started a week before he did and I didn’t understand why he was so special. I remember cussing him and pretty much acting like schmuck. Later, when he returned, he told me how his newborn son had to have heart surgery and that’s why he wasn’t at ...