Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-Tail

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-Tail

In February, during my week off of work, I took one day to care for myself through deep cleaning my home. First, I deep cleaned the refrigerator. As I took the almost empty pepperoncini’s out and set them next to the Stonewall mustard, and Primal Kitchen ketchup, I thought of how my jeans no longer dug into my belly; from cutting out the additional sugars corporations sneak into their products. The Tahini jar was almost full. I was trying to keep up with YouTube recipes, (Pick Up Limes can’t be beaten); but the Tahini jar is jealous of the hot sauce and salad dressings used for marinades, which mockingly stand half-empty next to it. Embarrassingly, I admit to touching the refrigerator door handle and feeling something sticky... what monstrous eve had I grabbed the handle with...peanut butter? olive oil? honey? It was probably raw unfiltered honey. I was grabbing lemon for my tea! Suddenly the stickiness doesn’t mysteriously freak me out. I wiped clean the handle with OnGuard disinfectant; what a brand name eh?

I pulled out the veggie drawer that sits low on the fridge. On my knees, I wiped out the bottom level, head arched, arm reaching and hitting every corner, every cranny. Then rinsing the drawer out in the sink with soap. I live alone, no one saw this masterful display of care. That my friends is where the pride comes in. I know that I care about myself that much. It felt good. Is this the level of vibration the meditative monks in Thailand, Sri Lanka, the Dharmaguptaka in East Asia, and the Mulasarvastivada in Tibet reach while silently cleaning their monasteries?

I placed the bottle of Champagne back inside, along with the new craze spiked seltzer cans I bought for the plow guy. When I lived in a house we would bake the plow workers cookies. In my apartment complex, I could hear the plow scrape pavement as the yellowish-orange machine quickly smashed four inches of fresh snow into the summer dog park. I hurriedly put on my grey boots, tossed on my knitted beanie: a mix of reds, purples, and pinks and grabbed three cans of White-Claw with three Cutie oranges. Along with my shovel, I bounded quickly down three flights of stairs. I waved the bag and smiled, he stopped the plow and opened his window. Sitting tall, above us all, our hero, our freedom on wheels, our plow guy!!! As I shouted thank you, I felt as good as my cleaned-out fridge; healthy and light.

***

I shovel off my car, this morning, March 15, 2021. Fresh powder snow; that puffs and billows. It reminds me of snow angels I made last year in my backyard... when I had a yard. It reminds me of childhood on Wombly Valley Road, in another mountain town miles from here. Of the March snow in 1983. We had pet rabbits, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-Tail. I was playing with Mopsy, her big black ears flopping about, as her white paws pounced like a DJ on MTV Spring Break. I had my striped soft pink, and white t-shirt on. How does one 33 years later still recall their favorite t-shirt? It reminded me of Striped Ice Cream by Joan Lexau. I loved that story, about a little girl who lived in a city. That’s not the plot of the story, but it’s what I loved about it. As I played with Mopsy on our horse ranch, with pine trees and aspen leaves, a city life seemed exciting, different from my known surroundings. I was laughing with Mopsy, running around in shorts, so playful and free to be me, with my bowl-cut and pierced ears. I was living, presently. The next morning I woke to a blanket of snow. Mopsy and I were so surprised. Where did this come from? That’s transitional March, swimming upstream and back down again. So I never change out my closets in March, one never knows what’s going to happen, if they live in all four seasons, in the mountains.

My vehicle is heated up and the fresh powder surrounds my tires. As I climb inside my vehicle, I take a breath in noticing the faintest hint of Armor-All cleaner. A few weeks before the weather was sunny, I had just come back from a road trip to Santa Cruz. I was in line to wash my car. Sometimes I go to the stations, where we all wrangle the rope as we spray down our vehicles, “the good people of the world washing their car on their lunch break, hosing and scrubbing the best they can in skirts and suits” Sheryl Crow still singing in our ears. That February day I was in line for the automatic rainbow soap show! The line was long, filled with SUV’s. The SUV in front of me was so dirty the back window seemed smeared with chocolate mousse. It was hard to see but the actual color of the vehicle was grey.

I turned off my engine in line and hoped outside. I started to Armor-All the back interior doors. I told myself to not care what others think; you’re simply maximizing your time, rather than sitting in line. In my driver’s door, I grabbed out receipts from Wild Cherries Coffee Shop, a gum wrapper, and the lid to a Suja drink, and walked across the parking lot to toss them into the garbage. Even as a grown woman I get a little shy, this time I hoped the car wash line wasn't watching me. I was glad to have my sunglasses on. I forced myself to correct posture and walked back with false pride. In America when a woman doesn’t want attention, we put sunglasses on. I used to see this on the light rail in Denver. A beautiful girl with bootie shorts and a tank top, sunken into her seat, pushed up her sunglasses to feel hidden. Around the world, some beautiful Muslim women, cover all but their eyes. Finally, my turn arrived... I blasted Reggae music, and danced in my car while the rainbow soap blanketed me inside my vehicle; the interior smelling as a gift, just for me.

This weekend, I will start the dance of placing new spring attire onto hangers and forcing myself to say goodbye to the clothing of the past. This year though with Covid, the old game of “if you didn’t wear it this year, toss it out” need not apply. I’ll stick to Spark Joy, thank you, Marie Kondo. As I hang up my new Merci cotton white t-shirt, each letter of merci painted in a different pastel shade, the M in matte blue, the E in soft yellow, the R in pale pink, I feel excited to lighten up from Wiotekika Wi, the Lakota word for January or rather Moon of Hard Times. I purposefully ask the universe to move on from Covid now. Have we learned enough? Are we ready to walk forward, (not back to any old way)? Did we take heed and bring new awareness? I promise myself that the joy of present play, just like I had with Mopsy, can be found today.