I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Rain today. But rain that did not depress . . . or aggravate my easily disturbed homeostasis. It did not tightly bottle the energy of my children to the point of a water kefir explosion with permanent discoloration upon their souls.
They . . . they delighted in learning. Swift hugs. Air kisses. Letter C’s. Cuneiform. The land of Sumer, home to paper and the Fertile Crescent. A stick figure Elijah who had faith to call upon heaven and light afire on wet wood.
Random quotes from my husband such as, “It’s big, heavy, colors don’t match.{dramatic pause} I wouldn’t have it.” and “I’m so tired; I think I’ll fall asleep riding my bike to work tomorrow.”
And me, imagining my Engineer in plaid pajamas (even though I have never known him to wear such a bold covering), long cap with a fuzzy white pom pom, and Snoopy pillow . . . being towed by Jeff. The very Jeff who wants me to write about how our food is delivered to our doorstep. (Please tell them I sent you.)
A white sink that appeared after a long absence; discovered by my mom who is braver than I.
Romano encrusted chicken salad delivered. Even though I haven’t lived with my mom in years, she still feeds me with her hands.
Candles that flicker to the graceful keystrokes of David Neveu.
A simple coffee shared with the Engineer . . . over a provocative discussion involving carpet tiles.
The second post . . . the third day . . . in November. Thankful.
Visit my friend Conny to make your own list. Don’t have a blog? Leave a comment here . . . or there.
