so i hear something went down on friday...
in our world, it was my 5th post-transplant clinic.
without cynicism, i concede why. after the horrors of japan, the uprisings in the middle east, the natural devastation in the american southeast; not to mention the fact that our president is a FOREIGNER (give it up, trump); we're all in the mood for a little glamor.
[actually, if trump and palin take 2012, we'll be fleeing back to canada faster than canadian geese snowbird in the other direction...]
but glamor manifests in the most curious of ways.
in a 3 minute sound bite, i saw the dress (divine!), i saw the kisses (2!) and i saw the petulant flower girl clamping her ears shut (adorable!). flapping flags, homemade hats and boisterous brits blowing best wishes from every corner of their nation.
[makes for a pretty picture, non?]
but pictures are frozen moments, already past. and to me, the newlyweds are strangers. and england is thousands of miles away from the hallways of cedars-sinai.
"your creatinine is beautiful. it's 1. (normal range 0.5-1.4). increase your gengraf to 100 mg twice daily and lower your prednisone to 10 mg daily. and your urine infection is gone".
[cut to: screaming crowd gone wild...or that might have been just me.]
[and we all know how di's marriage ended.]
by then, my father was gone, and my crystal ball revealed fairy tales are meant to be delighted in; not imitated.
they are my heroes. heroes are defined by action. by effort. by work.
[and not by the delicate beadwork on a designer gown...]
so now i add a third hero.
for despite kevin's utter reluctance to embrace this label, i am pigeonholing you, my sweetheart.
my prince exists. he's wears jeans and caps, not luminously, polished uniforms. chugs diet coke from a bottle, sips not from cristal-filled flutes. and lavishes me with the warmth of affection, attention and admiration; not the hollow companionship of icy jewels.
[although we have hit up tiffany's a few times...]
but his true crown jewel lay literally and figuratively within himself. and he gave without condition. with an object no bigger than a fist, i can see the world again. without private jets or royal yachts or stretch limousines.
ours is a continued recovery, fraught with pain, strained patience, yet peppered with laughter. we escape, not cruising the avenues of ol' london town in glistening, plush carriages; but rather, perusing the aisles of trader joe's; pushing our sanitized cart, simply reveling in the ability to be present.
so when the royal couple celebrate their 70th anniversary, i'll be waving the union jack faster than a java junkie sucks back a frozen frappuccino. but until then, my heroes need to prove themselves.
[and the proof will be in the bread pudding.]
but btw, this picture totally rocks...