Contentment

Last night, after stumbling over a disarray of clothing and books, I located my lamp and turned it on to find this little cat cuddled up in sheer delight in my chair.

Nutmeg's world is one of chaos. She is the undercat of our household, the hated child of her mother, the tortured plaything for our youngest imp; a little peace-lover who is very often denied the quiet she craves. And yet look at her, listen to her, safe in my room, in a pile of messy blanket and rumpled quilt, cozy, drowsy, content.

So often I find myself complaining about my life. So many times I have heard myself saying that I hate officework, or that the roads are too icy to ride on, or that there are too many huge decisions to make, or that I am scared for the future. But look at this little sleeper again. I have so much to be thankful for, a family who loves me, the opportunity for a college education, a beautiful place to live in, a few close friends, a God who loves me.

Tonight if you come and visit, make your way up the stairs to my bedroom. There will likely still be a few clothes scattered across the floor, the bed might be unmade, but there will be candles lit, and a cheery little lamp shining, and some Fernando Ortega softly playing. You will find me in my chair on the rumpled quilt and wrapped up in the disheveled blanket, reading and thinking, and being thankful. I am taking a moment to be content and only peace is welcome here, well, that and friendship, and fond regard, and the little tortiseshell cat whose purr is vibrating my toes.

Blister

1. An orb of warm fluid contained in a delicate, transparent pearl of skin, or

2. A simple word but with such connotations as which might make the two syllables themselves shiver were they to hear them, or

3. Bliss, trying to keep up with the snowshoes of her sister.

Dad's Turn

He was the first owl I ever heard hoot, cupping his hands around his mouth and giving his eerie call out into the dark woods around us, letting it echo up and around in the moonlight, floating back down to us a memory,
And a familiar sound,
And a symbol of the places he has always loved and that we now love with him...

Happy Birthday, Dad

See You in May?

I have a note from you in my fifth grade yearbook
that begins "I'm glad you're my sister" and ends
with the not so complementary "You're
pretty annoying sometimes"... I guess I was, and
perhaps you were not so angelic a big brother
yourself at that point...


But a nine-year-old note only holds giggle value

Happy Birthday to RMK

We used to call her Rachel Marie Otter,
A lover of lakes
And ponds and streams and snow and ice,
Sliding, swimming, skating
Lithe with enthusiasm.
And now it is rock,
Ice, snow, mountains, goats
Ropes, packs, m&ms and cashews,
Energy and muscled legs and Jersey Cows
An otter still,
Having scaled the very stream banks
Where thought impossible.