Good morning. It’s Sunday. It’s Sunday night on the other side of the planet. I left home on Saturday. 15ish hours ago. One should not start a sentence with arabic numerals (or use ampersands in narrative writing) & in t-minus 17 minutes many of the United States (including the one where I live) will spring ahead to start “Daylight Savings Time.”
I am a moderate sleeper at baseline. Worse when my mind is jumping with ideas and/or my body is miffed at something I ate or drank (regrettably frequent occurrences). I will be DAYS making up the sleep deficit from Friday and Saturday this week. But, today:
A woman told, with belying lightness, the intimate story of her humble prayers in the first year after her husband’s terrifying cancer diagnosis.
I made a new friend. I made him smile.
Strangers read me their poems.
A bold, inspiring woman shared her path (and tools) to creativity, and reminded us all to sing.
I had a dinner of hugs and kisses and laughter, and stories and shared joy, and fellowship and kindness and caring. There was also food. It was delicious.
I am drop-jawed constantly at the life I am leading, and want only to be as grateful for it as it is good to me.
Thank you for a beautiful day. Thank you for being present in it. Thank you for the choices I get to make. Thank you for the people and experiences which make every choice meaningful. Thank you for health. Thank you for the little pretty things that glitter even on the dirtiest day; and big, loud, wide open hearts, wherever you find them.