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