My son is taller than I am.  His voice is much lower.  His feet are big.  I have to get him to deal with the beginnings of a uni-brow.  He will start shaving soon.

He is growing up.  It is wonderful (I say wistfully) to watch him become independent and, well, transform into a young man.

But, then, he threw me a curve ball.

“I think it is time we box up and give away some of my childhood artifacts.”

He is separating from his childhood, like a baby from the placenta. And by saying “childhood artifacts,” I think he is trying to make it all feel less emotional, less big, less close.

“I think the Magic Blanket and Puppy need to go away.”

In my heart I am crying:  “Oh, no, not Puppy the stuffed dog that kept you company at night? And the Magic Blanket that kept you and Puppy safe?”

As if reading my mind, he says:

“You know Puppy isn’t real and the Magic Blanket doesn’t really keep me safe.”

Oh, but they are and they did, Sweetie.  They made you feel safe and secure at night when you were young and the darkness was scary.

RIP Puppy and the Magic Blanket.

Although ol’ man Winter tarried in the night (and night after night, week after week, it seemed), Spring came this morning.

(Forgive the bastardization of both a Biblical verse and an old Paul Robeson classic.)

The City was alive today.  If I did not ride the subways everyday, I might be astonished at all of the people who live in this City, who flooded Central Park today.

Flowers are budding. Boom-boxes on full volume. Sheep’s Meadow a sea of people. The promenades alive with children and parents, tourists and citizens.  A veritable celebration of, unquestionably, the first spectacular, sunny and warm day of 2015.

My sister and I walked through the Park, marveling at the City come alive again.

We wondered at warmth and flowers.  And their restorative effects on the soul.  A chance to grow with the flowers — maybe this year, to grow straighter or maybe lilt to a side, but whichever, maybe a little bit happier.

New bursts of energy to last until the lazy days of the long, hot summer.

Resolutions of healthy habits that will be dashed with tonight’s pain of that ill-conceived run or bike ride.

The true rites of Spring.  Rebirth and renewal. And, best of all , ecumenical.