I’ve written before about my intimate relationship with coffee. How the promise of a cup instills in me enough momentum to peel myself from my bed and face the daily making of sandwiches (tuna, turkey, and pb&j), and breakfast (cereal, cereal, jelly toast, boy tea for all). How I need another cup mid afternoon to stay awake for the drives to far flung sports fields or rinks. How when I am bitterly cold it’s nothing but coffee (and sometimes red wine) that can make me feel as if the world isn’t ending in ice after all.
So no more coffee talk today. I can tell you’re bored.
I thought about writing about spoons, or silverware in general, because the other day when I spoke to my mother about Christmas gifts and my vast appreciation of the practical, she offered an infusion of forks, spoons, and knives and my heart, it leaped. And I thought wow, I am such a grownup to be excited about a brimming silverware drawer.
But, while silverware can be beautiful and mysterious in the right light, I haven’t had a chance this week to find that right light and take a picture. But I found this! This picture of rain and sunlight happening at the same time! And I remember seeing this out the window while I did the dishes, and I remember herding four boys who were home from school and crazy with insideness out to watch. We stood on the porch and marveled.
Some days I suspect my time is too measured. Too allotted. Measured by miles driven and words written, by questions answered and asked, by cups of coffee. This moment of sunny rain – unplanned, unexpected. I know there are other unplanned, unmeasured moments that I let slip by out of either carelessness or the mistaken belief that if it’s not on the calendar, it’s not important. So when I notice one, and stop to pay attention, it’s a gift.