After a wonderful evening with my friend Jenny Rosen and a long if light sleep, I pad around the house wondering what I should do to prepare for the ice storm. I don’t have a battery-powered cell phone charger if such a contraption exists. I’ve got plenty of food and would most miss the ability to blog if I have to spend a few days without electricity. The medicine cabinet holds most of the drugs I need to beat back the viruses.
I’ll survive if the roads keep me indoors and I have to write on a legal pad by candlelight. I’ve got plenty of blankets.
But wait: How will I brew coffee?
Ah yes. As long as I am able to light the burners on the stove, I’ve got that covered, too. I chortle and congratulate myself for kicking the automatic coffee maker habit and going pour-over. It’s these simple pleasures in life which invigorate us: A cup of coffee, a book, the lilting voice of a friend encouraging our efforts, the chatter of cold rain on a roof which does not leak.
It’s not much, but it’s so much more than many can claim. Some days I yearn for more, for what has been forfeit, for what I wanted. But today, what I have is enough. I do not understand the wax and wane of contentment. I do not pretend to control these emotions. I merely wrap myself in the soft folds of peacefulness when it comes my way and hold on tight as long as I can.
It’s the thirteenth day of the thirty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.