Moments

Walking on a trail and gazing up to see the blue sky peeking through the red, yellow and orange leaves. Takes your breath away.

Going up hill on a trail and feeling many muscles in your body groaning. Panting a bit, not out of breath but definitely exerting. Looking up and seeing a clearing ahead. The top. No more climbing. Yes!

Climbing into bed and feeling like you have died and gone to heaven. Snuggling underneath the blankets and reaching a foot out and touching the warmth of someone else's. Knowing that if you wanted to, you could get the fire going if you pushed a little harder. And going to sleep with that knowledge deep in your heart.

Seeing the sun sandwiched between clouds, and a crazy rain shower come out of nowhere. And wondering is it possible to document such an event ... or is it all about just watching it happen? Having that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you might miss a rainbow (like as in photographing it) or you might miss a rainbow if you go look for the camera. Touch decisions. The ability to stop in your tracks and just watch makes you realize you might have learned a thing or two over the years. And then, as the rain stops and the sun throws out blazes of rays and it takes your breath away, you think ... I should have ...

Should have what?

Sometimes I walk into my living room and I am struck by the colors. Not just the guest appearances of the trees outside the windows; but the way the dark brown couch looks so inviting or the vase full of acorns is so quirky or that the light cast by the light on the trunk in the corner is ... just right. Sometimes the light in all the rooms of my house overwhelm me. It is as though every molecule of furniture and dust fits. It is all the way it is supposed to be. Even after I rearrange the furniture. All part of the plan.

We sat at the dining room table tonight; our traditional farewell dinner to Peter's parents. First the boat is taken out, then his parents leave. Truly, summer is over. We had chicken pot pie, a dish I haven't made in months and months, and Hallie made apple turnovers. I realized that all of my children were there. What a gift that is that we have this time as a complete family, despite the fact that Hallie has been gone for so long.

I do listen.

I do understand.

I do get that our life is all the moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months strung together. I do get that it is better to savor the moment then look forward to the end of the week -- for whatever reason. I get it, I embrace it and every now and then it hits me that I am truly living in the moment.

And I thank myself for that ability. Because I know how hard it is.

And tomorrow morning Charlie is going to have an apple turnover for breakfast.

Amen.