It’s 10:30 a.m. on a rainy Saturday. I have written my blog post, exercised, eaten yogurt (which I expect to regret) and sent a few emails, including one to Andrew Starr in response to his message about my son’s upcoming 25th birthday. The dog has been let outside (first) but not yet fed as her dog food container holds only a broken pieces of food. I have consumed 1.5 cups of yesterday’s coffee (the coffee bean canister reflects the same sad condition as Little Girl’s food storage bin). I’ve consumed the last of the blueberries. I stood on the porch in the rain.
On Facebook, I wished an old friend Happy Birthday and sent the same greetings to one of my nieces. While I trolled aimlessly through the newsfeed, three videos caught my fancy and found their way to my page. My legs tingle from eight minutes and 212 complete rounds on my stepper. The NYT morning briefing held only drama and mundane references to sports events about which I have no concern, so I gave it a miss.
Two days before the anniversary of our Nation’s Declaration of Independence. I know that I have been blessed with many things, including the amazing fortune to have been born in the United States of America. The current climate worries me; I see no realistic option for a successor president, including the one I favor who seems less viable each day. But my faith in our nation endures. My belief in our system carries me.
Yesterday my neighbor’s grandchildren crossed the street to sit on my porch and tell me about themselves. Abigail is four; Josie two. Their older sisters, Madison (10) and Aubrey (14), held their little sister’s hands all the way over to my house. I took them upstairs to see the drawbridge to my closet. We played with my huge Lego collection, a leftover from my son’s childhood. They took turns on the Stepper. Then they left, with two little hugs for Corinne. I cannot believe that I never once thought to take a picture. I hope they return. My heart sang every moment of their visit.
My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining brings many moments for quiet contemplation. But I have no time for such indulgences today. Closets wait to be cleaned. My basement vibrates with clutter. Cupboards hold piles of pictures shoved away for stronger times. I’m here. It’s now. Life continues.
