Memories of Spring


Like most Pittsburghers, I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of spring. I cannot wait for warmer, sunnier weather, flower buds poking up through the newly green grass, trading sweaters for Capri pants and sandals, and driving with the windows down. I have such cabin fever I’m actually looking forward to giving my house a good spring cleaning, if only it means I can open up the windows and let the fresh air permeate the house.

I’ve loved spring for as long as I can remember. I love how it represents rebirth and renewal and how glorious and clean and bright the world seems after months of gray and cold.  The season has also brought many personal milestones to me over the years, and I always find myself reminiscing about these whenever the weather turns brighter.

Spring was the season of my senior prom, the one and only time I attended, with a guy who I almost didn’t get to go with. It was a beautiful, memorable night – dancing to Aerosmith’s Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing in my blue, beaded dress, flinging my white heels over my shoulder as I curled up in a corner of the room with my date, then making out with him in the squashed back seat of my friend’s Chevy Lumina.

It’s the season when I started my very first full time job as a receptionist. Eleven years ago I nervously took my place at the front desk, timid and uncertain in my brand new dress clothes, wondering if my co-workers would be patient and kind and if I’d be able to hang with the big boys and girls of the real world.

I started my current job in March of 2014, a breath of fresh air after several years of bouncing from one unpleasant place to the next. Every year when it comes time for my review, I thank my lucky stars that I finally ended up in an environment where I can be myself and prosper.

On March 22nd, 2008 I went on a blind date and met my husband.  Our mutual friends who had set us up made stuffed peppers at their apartment, then we headed to a dive bar where cheap beers loosened our tongues and inhibitions. I huddled in the tiny bathroom with my friend K, nodding shyly as she asked in an excited voice whether or not I liked my date. In a clever plot devised earlier in the day by our friends, J drove me home that night and I told him about how I’d always wanted a tattoo but didn’t have one yet. When he pulled up to my driveway, I leaned over and kissed him, long and sweet.

Five years later, J and I closed on our very first home together that April. We signed the papers, were presented with keys, and drove right over to the old house with bare walls and 1980’s curtains. Those first few weeks were spent cleaning and painting, trying to acclimate our dog to the hardwood floors, and stocking up the fridge with more than just ketchup and beer. Every spring we try to tackle something on our “to do” list – building a fence for the backyard, replacing scraggly bushes with a pretty little Japanese Maple tree, fixing the shifting brick on the porch, or remodeling the bathroom. Any time I find myself frustrated with the amount of work we still have to do in the house, I think about how many changes we’ve already made in just a few years.

This spring, J and I will renew our passports in preparation for our trip to London in October. I’m ridiculously excited for the trip, but also very much looking forward to what spring 2018 brings our way.




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