Today is the anniversary of my grandmother's birthday. She would have been around eighty-five years old. I actually had a dream about her last night (not remembering that it was her birthday); kind of like a refurbished memory of when I stayed with her in her apartment.

She would give me Dole pineapple juice and Oreo cookies or make me some slamming grilled cheese sandwiches with real Velveeta cheese. When I woke up this morning, I was quite confused. "Is she still alive?" I thought. As reality began to sink in with the light of dawn, I remembered that she had really died ten years ago.

Sometimes when I have the recurring dream of my grandmother being alive, I look for the hidden meanings, or I think that she is trying to spend time with me from the spirit world. It makes me feel stuck in a portal puddle of the past. This time I was not in the mood to entertain the thought. I may have been distracted by the sounds of cars splashing newly formed puddles. I read on the Internet that we were going to have a "wintery mix of rain and snow" this morning. The rain falling from the sky all of a sudden turned into mini-cotton iceberg chunks that are now starting to silently paint the sidewalk like puffs of talcum powder on a baby's butt. What's the point? I'm not sure yet.

I've been yearning for the sunshine, that fragrance of spring that you smell coming around the corner when the temperature begins to rise. Nothing seems subtle on the East Coast. We all know when it's winter. We all know when it's summer. Spring and fall seem to be quick transitional seasons for what's to come. At least this is how I naturally think. Maybe it isn't about what's to come at all. It's about, well…now. The snowflakes are looking and moving like falling swan feathers at this very moment. The winter may be an ugly duckling that will turn into the beautiful swan of spring. Here I go again with the hidden meanings. The snow is speaking to me. Either that or I need to go and take my omega fatty acids and vitamin D.

I must accept (the fact or defense mechanism) that I have this lesson to learn from the snow (I could learn lots of lessons from the sun and ocean, too). I am listening to the snow. I am reminded of how when my grandparents moved from Brooklyn, New York, to Southern California to be closer to us growing up. Those memories are a precious gift. Somehow, I don't recall seeing them relishing in the sunshine. I can only hear them complaining about how lousy the bagels and pizza are in California.  

Happy birthday, Grandma. This one's for you. I miss you.

Marisol Tirelli Rivera