As I sit here typing this, I hear birds singing outside and I can see a big tree blooming with some sort of white, fluffy flowers – I have no idea what kind of tree it is but it makes me happy. I see daffodils and all over town, I can see Japanese Magnolias blooming. I do know what they look like...NOT white and fluffy.

Spring has sprung. And it's not even March yet.

However, I did wake up this morning to chillier temperatures. I literally stopped in my tracks and thought, "I hope you're not toying with me, Mother Nature." She got me all excited about spring and daffodils and going barefoot again and flip flops and capri pants and azaleas and dogwoods…well, she better not be messing with my head. Does she KNOW I have red hair?

How cruel it would be to give us a taste of spring and then snatch it away. I remember, years ago, when I still lived in Augusta, the azaleas and dogwoods were in full bloom everywhere as everyone got ready for the annual pain in the butt that is The Masters. Then there was a frost. And everything died – or at least turned a dull brown. The entire city, or at least, the golf-loving part of it, went into hysterics.

That was the year truckloads of azaleas were brought in and replanted, and when you entered the gates of The National in white shoes, you went home in green shoes, thanks to the spray painted grass. It was insane. But it was enough to fool the golf crowd. They like pretty things and apparently aren't too bright.

But alas, even spring has a dark underbelly. It's called pollen. It's already reared its ugly head. My white car is slowly turning yellow. And I've already begun to experience the sneezies in the morning. I'll have them until that annoying bee on the nasal spray commercial carts away all the "dehydrated pee," as someone called it this morning.

I don't even want to think of pollen as dehydrated pee. I mean, just think about what kind of creature could produce that amount of…never mind. Moving on!

Ahhh….I do love spring though. It's like the world gets a fresh start. There's a sense of renewal everywhere. And I love the scent of a clean slate in the morning.

When I was a kid, I sometimes saw older people hunched over and walking very slowly. I always felt sorry for them. Especially for the ones who were obviously in pain.

These days, I feel like an old person, hunched over and obviously in pain. Getting older is not for sissies.

Back in the early 1990s, I walked in my sleep. I hadn't done it since I was a kid. But for some reason, I did one night, and I was rudely awakened when my backside landed squarely on the bottom stair of the townhouse I shared with my roommate at the time, Teresa. She heard what she thought was a gunshot, and jumped out of bed and came running. I was quite proud. It took a major noise to wake that one up.

The noise she heard wasn't a gunshot. It was my tailbone breaking. The sound is one I'll never forget. I can't. My back won't let me.

Since they can't exactly put your butt in a cast, all doctors could do was help me manage the pain. They gave me morphine, which I have to say, is good stuff.

We had a party planned, with about a dozen of our friends for the weekend after I fell. Since I couldn't make it back upstairs, Teresa brought upstairs to me. I put on some sweats, took my medicine, and put on a smile, prepared for our guests. I remember nothing after that.

According to Teresa, and several of our friends, I was pretty much knocked out. I laid down in the floor, leaning against this big, green beanbag chair I had at the time, and slept. With a big dumb grin on my face. They used me as a coffee table, so I'm told. Thank God no one had cell phones and that YouTube wasn't even on our radar yet.

Since that time, I periodically have back pain. It usually starts out minor, because of something minor. This time, I cleaned the bathtub, and when I stood up, something just gave way. I was in some pain the day after, but a couple of days later...hoooo boy.

The funny thing – and I mean funny ironically, not funny ha-ha – is that people are always telling me, "You're just going to have to be more careful."

Excuse me, but how is this possible? I can't just not live my life. I have stuff to do, and since my maid, chauffeur, cook, valet, butler and personal assistant all quit, I have to do it. I can't stop living for fear of hurting my back. And I won't live in fear.

Fact is, most of the time, I don't hurt. And I'm fairly careful. I don't lift heavy things, and I know my limits. I say no when I need to. When I begin to hurt, I stop. When I need to rest, I do so. I do my regular stretching exercises for my back.

The doctors have told me that I have a small piece of bone near the sciatic nerve on the left side, and that appears to be the culprit. Thanks tailbone, for thoughtfully leaving me a souvenir. Every now and again, I'll move just the right way, and that piece of bone pushes against that nerve, and my back, as well as down my left leg, becomes painful. Short of surgery, there's really nothing they can do.

And I ain't going through surgery.

So...here I sit, uncomfortable and with a pain in my back and left leg...again. It's more like a pain in my butt.

Ironic. That's where it all started.

Today is Valentine's Day. And once again, I celebrate it with just a couple of Dove chocolates from the community pile of holiday candy in the kitchen at the office. I sigh heavily after re-reading that last sentence. No candy and flowers for me. Just pity chocolate from a coworker.

I had hoped by now that I wouldn't have to celebrate these holidays alone. By "these" I mean Christmas, New Year's and Valentine's. As if dealing with Christmas and then New Year's alone wasn't enough, then us single folks get slapped with Valentine's Day…the national day of remembrance…remember you are alone.

I have joked about this day. I have said if Cupid did shoot me, I'd pull his wings out. I have posted on Facebook that valentines make me poop. I have said that I hope on Feb. 15, Cupid wakes up in the fetal position in a pool of his own vomit. All of this makes me sound so very bitter. I'm not really.

It's just difficult. I don't like being reminded that I'm alone still. Who does? I got slapped in the face with it the other day. Someone told me that she envies me for not having a man to have to take care of. After I removed the dart from my chest and handed it back to her, I reminded her that not having a man to take care of also means I don't have a man to take care of me. The response? "Oh."

Yeah. Oh.

My mother heard this exchange. We later talked about how I am waiting for the right man…not Mr. Right. Not Mr. Right Now. But the right man for me. Even if it takes until I'm 70. My mother said she's glad I'm waiting, since it will save me from a lot of heartache. But what about the heartache of waiting? That's just about as bad, in my humble opinion.

But I believe my heart's too special to hand over to just anyone, so I refuse to give it to some dude just so I don't have to order for one when I call out for Chinese. I intend to wait for God's best, no matter how many Valentine's days I have to go through alone.

So…stupid Cupid…stop pickin' on me. I'll call you when I need you.

Mama Knows…

She falls and scrapes her knee, it hurts so bad she cries…

She stands up and runs right inside;

Mama fixes her up, makes it better,

Then looks at her with those eyes…

Mama knows…

She tried so hard at school today but just didn't understand…

That math stuff's hard, couldn't get the answer to come out right;

Curled up on her bed, Mama strokes her hair,

Speaking only with those eyes…

Mama knows…

Who does that boy think he is? Did he know how much she cared?

She told him how she felt, he just walked away;

Didn't eat a bite at supper…

Mama watches her baby girl sleep that night…

Mama knows.

Suitcase packed, the car loaded, off to college she goes;

One last look around her empty room, she sighs…

So many memories, so much lies ahead.

Mama watches her baby leave…

Mama knows…

In a dress all white with lace; a soft, snowy veil, one last glance…

Her life will change, along with her last name;

Touching her pearls she wonders if she's ready…

Mama smiles over her shoulder…

Mama knows.

In the hospital, worn out after hours of struggle

Now forgotten as she holds her own little girl;

She smiles and thinks, "Will I be a good mother?"

Mama says not a word, just smiles, softly cooing…

Mama knows…

Years have passed, children grown and out on their own…

Gray hairs fill her hairline, and she stares at empty rooms;

So many happy memories, so much love;

Where did the time go?

Mama knows.

Mama sits in a chair by a window, watching seasons come and go…

Her memory's long gone, and she can't talk like she used to do;

She wonders if Mama knows she loves her, how she wishes for more time…

Mama's eyes say everything she needs to hear with just one sweet glance...

Mama knows.

Note: I wrote this after watching someone help her mother, who obviously has Alzheimer's disease.

My niece, Amanda, was supposed to dress like she's 100 years old for her 100th day of kindergarten. This is the look she went with. Wonder what she thinks someone in their 40s is supposed to look like? I'm not sure I want to know...

I'm a woman on the edge...and I am not quite sure what is down below.

I have a feeling that God is up to something. The last time I had this feeling, I wound up in Oregon for over two years as a volunteer missionary.

I'm not sure what He's up to, I just know in my heart it will be life-altering somehow. I am praying. I am seeking. I am searching. I am emptying my heart and my pockets, my shoes, my purse, my briefcase...I'm laying it all out...asking God where I'm about to jump.

The funny thing is, He doesn't owe me an explanation. He doesn't have to tell me what's next. He just says, "Trust me. You'll like where you land."

I'm more like the sign that warns me I could die if I fall over the edge.

I'm a woman on the edge. I have no clue what's below. But the view up here is pretty darn nice.