Perfect Moments

Perfect? Maybe. Sometimes perfection arrives in a ephemeral glimpses, like bubbles floating around.

Last night, it was dinner outside by a nice fire. Comfort food, good beer, warmth and the companionship of my sweet hubs. No music, no TV, no nothing. Just listening to each other and to the crackling of the fire. It was perfect.

 I think the key to a happy life may very well be in taking the time to notice a bubble of perfection like that...before it pops.

Love, Demonstrated

One thing that was a turning point in being a grown up, married person was when I learned how to see the love in what my husband was doing--instead of expecting him to show me love the way I thought it should look. This week, he is doing something for me that could be easy to overlook as an expression of his love.

I'm half-heartedly looking for an SUV. I say "half-heartedly" because I will probably have to give up the car I have now, which I love-love-love. As in L.O.V.E. love. He really couldn't care less about things that I like, such as heated leather seats, satellite radio and navigation. But he is carefully looking for what I want, and not necessarily what he thinks I should want. I know he would probably rather I would pick a truck like his, and he prefers cloth seats to leather.

Instead, he is looking for MY preferences. That is a very sweet expression of love: he isn't trying to find "good enough", or something to make do with. He isn't rationalizing that I put very few miles on a vehicle and therefore don't really need any bells and whistles. He isn't pushing his preference and he isn't contesting any of my reasons for what I want from a vehicle. He just wants me drive something that makes me happy. And he is loving enough to be content with the knowledge that what makes my skirt fly up about a vehicle is different than what he wants in his daily driver, and that is OK.

Oh, how I love that man.

Dilemmas and Decisions

What to do? Until I can figure out how to squeeze more hours out of the clock, I'm just not finding the time!

So what do I choose?

  • Clean?
  • Cook?
  • Practice guitar?
  • Practice Spanish?
  • Visit Mom?
  • Work on the basket I started?
  • Work on the novel I started?
  • Work on this blog?
  • Read the book I started?
  • Make the clothes I bought the fabric for?
  • Read the other book I started?


I had been thinking about it for some time: picking up guitar again. Seeing if I could still play after 25 years or so away. I didn't think about it very seriously, but I thought about it.

Later, when I sat there with my Mom at her doctor's visit, it rocketed up my priority list. The doctor suggested that my siblings and I do a few things to help preserve and protect our brains: include plenty of turmeric and cinnamon in our diets (or take a supplement), read upside-down sometimes, keep learning...and play an instrument or learn a new language. 

So I went home and ordered a big bottle of turmeric capsules and cinnamon capsules. (Still trying to get in the habit of taking them regularly. I stink at forming a pill-taking habit and it is a wonder I don't have 15 children from my years of being so irregular with my oral contraceptive!)

I try to read at least one document upside down every day. 

And I bought a guitar.

Yes I did. It's an Ibanez IJV50--a nice little student-quality guitar to see if I could even still play. As it turns out, I can't. But it's coming back to me! I cut off my nails. I dragged out my old sheet music, and struggle to translate the dot on the line to a note on the guitar...but it's coming back to me. Flats, sharps, 4-4 time. 

That's when it happened. I found something in myself that I had loved once, and which I foolishly ignored. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed playing. Not for anyone else, but just for me. To sit quietly by myself and make a sound that pleases me. (Well, OK, so far the sounds I'm making aren't all that pleasing, but I will get there.)

I was never any great shakes at the guitar, but I wasn't too bad. And I would settle for not-too-bad again. 

My fingers hurt, but my heart is chirping.