Dear Ms. Sun:

Here we are. Another birthday of mine in the next day or so, meaning another trip around you.

Unlike the rest of us (who all, at one time or another, think the earth revolves around us), you, actually, are entitled to feel that way (you heliocentric being, you). And while this past trip has certainly been unprecedented on so many levels (to call it a long strange one would be an understatement), it seems that you still manage to get up and out of bed everyday, do your job for the full number of hours required by the law (of astronomy), and then retire for a well-earned rest. Your ability to do that, given the political, social, and economic climates, is beyond admirable.

As for me, seeing you each day has been a gift (so please don’t feel you need to buy me anything else for my birthday). Living in LA, where we see you most days of the year, it’s easy to take you for granted. But let one day go by when you don’t show your pretty face – not for lack of trying on your part, I understand – and it’s just not the same. Sure, I can appreciate a good grey palette as much as the next creative, but grey without yellow? It’s like living in Seattle. A great place to visit, but I couldn’t live there.

And then there’s the way you manage to stick to your schedule. Every day, rain or shine (I know you’re there working your heart out behind the clouds), it’s like we can set our clocks by you (see what I did there – I made a sun joke). That kind of dependability inspires confidence. It inspires me to stick my head out from under the covers. To want to tie on my Nikes and go for a walk. To break out my Crayolas (the now-retired Dandelion was a favorite shade but Goldenrod, Canary, and, of course, classic Yellow work just fine).

Having my birthday at the end of March is perfect because it’s just at the start of our days getting longer (I know that there’s a debate over whether Daylight Savings Time should be eliminated, but coming out of a long winter, there’s nothing better than getting to spend more time with you). Going from Ain’t No Sunshine to Here Comes the Sun has never meant more to most of us than right now, so please know that if that measure ever comes up on our ballot, I’m voting for you.

There’s a line in the movie The Lake House, where the late, great Christopher Plummer, playing an architect, teaches his son (Keanu Reeves) that the secret to designing the ideal home in the perfect setting is “the light … always the light.” Indeed. And your light, Ms. Sun, never fails to captivate me, no matter where I see it. The lemon-yellow in LA. The painterly brushstrokes in Santa Fe. The clear, colorful beams in San Francisco. The crisp, cool clarity of autumn in New York. The dazzling blue-white of a wintry late afternoon in New England. While the intensity and shadings vary as we travel around you, the beauty never does. Good job.

In closing, I’d just like to say that I look forward to many, many more trips around you – both for me and for all the people I love. Some trips have certainly been easier than this past one (thanks for sticking with me); some have been more joy-filled than others; but all of them have made me who I am.

Love and light,

Just Another California Girl (after all, the West Coast has the sunshine)

©2021 Claudia Grossman