3 June 2012 - Pop's birthday

Today is my Pop's birthday. It's bittersweet since he is no longer with us, but also because he is still with me everyday in more ways than you can imagine. One of my favorite songs by Michael Smith is I Brought My Father With Me.  The last verse gets me every time:

There are some ways I'm just like him
Some ways he was just like me
And sometimes when the mirror's dim
His face is clear to see
Tonight the winds of heaven
Blow the stars across the sky
I brought my father with me
I couldn't say goodby.

In my case the mirror doesn't have to be dim. I have often seen his face in my mirror, we are aging the same way. 

What I wish he could know is how happy I am to be here. I am so happy to be here that my heart hurts. There are days that I look up at the patented Utah blue sky with the peaks jutting up in front and I just want to hug the world, hard, but I can't get my arms around it. It is odd to be trying to describe happiness in terms of pain, but truly there are times I just ache with happiness. It feels like I could burst, like my innards are turning inside out. This all sounds horrible. But in spite of the weirdness, I am so damn happy!

I have always considered myself a happy person--the bloom where you are planted type. And I have been told--more than once-- that I am a manic depressive who is permanently stuck in the manic phase. But this? It defies everything. Every morning I walk into the kitchen look out the window and can hardly contain myself for happiness. I cling to my coffee cup, turn to Jack and say, "Have I told you how happy I am to be here?"  "First time today," he answers. 

Friday evening Jack and I went back to Red Butte Garden to check out the rose garden. On our last trip there, ten days ago, the roses were still covered in tight buds. In just over a week the garden had changed drastically in the colors of what was blooming. I thought we could just run down to the rose garden and then leave, but no, I had to see everything. Red Butte Garden is situated behind the U of U up Red Butte Canyon, so there are places where you can see across the valley.

The foreground trees are hiding the city, but looking west you can see the lake with some of the islands. The day was much clearer than this picture suggests. 

Looking south Mt. Olympus is the tallest peak. My neighborhood is tucked in at its base and is hidden behind the smaller hill in front. 

Here are the peaks just to the east of Mt. Olympus, still bits of snow in some of the crevasses.  These are views I see every day, and it makes me feel like the Grinch when his heart grew three sizes. 

It doesn't matter if it is the middle of winter when the hillsides are brown and gray, or if it snows on newly opened leaves in the spring. The mountains change on an hourly basis-- how the light strikes them, how flat or how 3-D they appear. Sometimes they are shrouded in clouds or the air is so clear you can see minute details. All these things thrill me.

Even seeing one of my hiking trails ahead of me fills me with joy. Utah's current motto is Life Elevated. I can only concur. 



It isn't only the mountains that bring me such satisfaction, but having some family close by again is a wondrous thing. (See post of  May 13.) 

Living in the house where I grew up is like putting on a favorite pair of slippers, the ones that are really comfortable, yet well worn. 

I have been here six months now, and the happiness factor is increasing. If it continues I may just spontaneously combust. I can see it now--News at Eleven! Woman Self Immolates in a Conflagration of Joy!