Quiet Things

Maybe I’ve been listening to “Brand New” a little too much.

Or, perhaps my mind is starting to re-tune itself to life, minus the initial detox it often needs after a life-changing move.

Either way, I’m starting to feel a bit more like myself. Taking pleasure in the little things, the quiet moments that would’ve normally been obliterated by a hasty Starbucks run to stave-off realizing a daydream of smacking McNutterpants upside her head, or a crazy-long work commute.

Just this and that.

Like roses drying in a kitchen warmed by a yellowed 1970s stove, the air filled with a hint of vanilla-bourbon and chocolate from cookies cooling on the farm table.

Like pops of color.

Pops of color, courtesy of our ever-expanding Fiestaware collection.

Like pulling together a recipe without instructions. Just flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. And, voila, cookies.

Baked happiness.

Like dreaming of being a writer, piling up some of my favorite authors’ books and hoping that, one day, I might have front and back covers with some pages sandwiched between them.

Author-atative inspiration...

Like realizing how fortunate I am to have Andy beside me when I wake from a horrendous nightmare.

Like receiving Andy’s unsolicited reassurance that I’m adding value when I’m feeling completely useless.

Like dreaming about the future, and planning a weekend getaway.

Quiet things that keep each us going.

Keep our glasses colored rose.

Even if it’s just around the rims.

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