Sunday, May 5, 2013


It's the kind of evening as a parent that leaves you wrung-out with one kid telling a lie and another in tears because some neighbor girls down the street were running, towels in hand, to a pool party at 8pm on a school night.

So I try to put it behind me and remember things like how beautiful and warm it was today, that feeling during church this morning as the group of four black women and one mismatched white man sang about how the hold of God is stronger than we dare to hope or dream.

I'll think about how happy I am that my sinus infection has moved to my chest on its way out of my body.  How I don't mind the coughing at night as long as I can breathe through my nose. 

And that moment last night when at bedtime my daughter wanted to kiss me even though she was running the risk of catching my germs.  She kissed me and then said, "If I get your cold, does that mean you don't have it anymore? Cause I want to take it from you."  And she would.  If it worked that way, she would.  I was left crushed by this generosity.

I'll enjoy my clean floors, the first time I've done them myself since the big elbow break.  Our windows are wide open in this warm spell, and I have also open a very European-looking bottle of rose wine, the looks of which give me that itch to set sail again somewhere but knowing that in this period, I can't.  I look at that bottle and imagine beautiful architecture, unusual flavors, and the sloping reach of an indecipherable language.

Tomorrow morning it's a new week.  Today I stocked the kitchen and sharpened the pencils.  Here I am.  I understand most everything, and for now, this is good.

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