I have played a game since I was a very young girl. It goes like this, "If I were a ...., I'd be a ...." As you may have noticed I have progressed from pansy to rose to lotus and now, on further reflection I think if I were a flower today I'd be a dandelion. I have looked down on them from the disdainful heights of prejudice and irritation, but that wasn't always the case. I once saw dandelions as the most precious of flowers: wishmakers on slender stalks, eager for a gusty exhale, crowns and necklaces waiting to be knotted and formed from golden blooms beneath brilliant blue skies, bright dots of color shining amidst manicured green lawns. When did I begin to see myself as a weed? Something to change and prune and pull up and proffer to the "Jones' smiling with greenness but devoid of color and wildness and wonder. I read recently that "ego" is not a noun, but a verb. It is not the weed but the thrust to be rid of it. So today I ...