My So-Called Memorial Tree

Last year on March 20th, John and I planted a small weeping cherry tree  in the backyard. The weather was chilly that day; rain and sleet took turns falling and calling the calendar into question. We could have put off the planting for another day when the weather was fine, but we'd bought the tree specifically to plant on March 20, the first day of spring and my 55th birthday, the first one since my metastatic lung cancer diagnosis. I was determined to get that twig in the ground. So we put on our rain parkas, dug a muddy hole, set the tree, and filled more mud in around it. It felt like an act of defiance, of the weather, yes, but also of something else, the nagging fear that tucks in alongside a metastatic diagnosis. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the tree would root well and bloom the next spring, and that I'd be around to see it. Of course, there was always that other possibility, one I didn't want to entertain – the weeping cherry could end up becoming my "memorial" tree, and its roots maybe even home to my ashes.

That's not what happened, obviously. Instead, I went ahead and had myself a 56th birthday, which I celebrated today with family and friends and neighbors on this first day of spring at one of our favorite East Nashville restaurants, Lyra. I didn't used to always go big on my birthday, but I've changed my mind about that since, well, ya know.  So carpe feliz cumpleaños and all that!

In that spirit, we had a community happy hour (actually a happy two hours) of cocktails and kabobs (cooked outside on the grill Lebanese style by Chef Hrant) and a wonderful Armenian layer cake (made by co-owner Liz, who happens to be married to Hrant). I invited lots of lovely people, and lots of them came. It was sunny and festive and kind of perfect out there on the patio honoring the Vernal Equinox. Plus a portion of the proceeds from that little party are going to The Addario Lung Cancer Foundation for the ROS1 Research Project.  So it was an entirely wonderful 56th first day of spring. And birthday.

And –
this: