Amid a pile of grading, an irrational, irrepressible, maybe momentary giddiness, from two sunny days in a row in this winter-gray city and a beloved name on a return address in the mails
Note 35: Or maybe joy, or the moment the pilot light of "Christmas spirit" was lit
The drafts folder is bulging, but no posts since June, the summer solstice? Dang. (And sorry.) So here’s a quick something before the winter solstice (on this sunny day, after some dental work with much enjoyable chattiness from my dentist, and leftover stuffed grape leaves in the fridge, and sun pouring in, and today’s mail that is 80% Christmas cards …. (and loved ones in hospitals; and the mess in the Middle East; and all the things, o human child, that add up to a world still more full of weeping than we can understand)) …
Before the moment passes, the old reliable —a gratitude post, sensory edition, recycled from Facebook. Goodness, lately:
More of the river and the lights of the water treatment plant at night, as well as the limbs and veins of the trees, now that most leaves have fallen. Bags of shingles on the rooftop and sure-footed workers repairing the years-old holes in the roof of a house down the hill. Fancy projected starlight and snowflakes in the Cathedral Commons Room. Dogs in sweaters and coats. Venus, the morning star.
Oven click saying, "I'm hot enough." Water bubbling, kettle whistle shrieking, "Move me!" Slightly off-pitch but joyous singing of Dial-A-Carol college students (call! Today is their last day). Beautiful unknown music from the professional pianist downstairs. The quiet that is like a presence.
Nubbly but not itchy warmth from my speckled wool Gap sweater, a Christmas gift when Mom was still living, so it's at least 35. A sun-warmed patch of carpet on bare feet. The Play-doh squish of a kneaded eraser. The moisturizing suds of goat-millk soap. Left hand finding the snooze button on the analog silent-second-hand alarm clock while brain is still half dreaming (and casting that sound as a key-fob car-finder that won’t stop beeping).
Someone's fresh coffee in the elevator. Someone else's perfume in a doorway, like passing through an invisible hippie bead curtain. Ginger-lemon tea. My own skin oils on a scarf not worn since last winter. The wayback-machine whiff of baby shampoo.
Sencha green tea, grassy. A surprising lemony(?) nip in the thin layer topping a mushroom-herb frittata (menu says whipped duo: honey, which I love, and goat cheese, which I generally don’t. Huh!). Banana with peanut butter and cinnamon (Korintje, straight, no sugar). The beef-and-bean, crunchy-and-soft melange of, forgive me, a double-decker taco (back through Dec. 20). Cool tzatziki sauce and lemon on a still-warm dolma from Evia Greek in Bellevue.
What have you seen, heard, touched, smelled, tasted lately that heartened you?
Peace to all.
That cathedral pic is as beautiful as your writing here today, Laura.
"Someone else's perfume in a doorway, like passing through an invisible hippie bead curtain."
Classic you. Which I love. :)