Out of small [and sometimes seemingly impossible] things proceedeth that which is great.
Hello, 2013. You've renewed my faith in love at first sight. Thanks for a sweet Day 1.
Leftover New Year's ceviche, cilantro, perfect avocado and Good Earth chips. Even tastier than it was last night. Adding fresh orange to the mixture of lemon and lime juices and herbs was inspired. To think how much more fine a flavor fresh rather than dried oregano might produce... oh! I might have to grow a potful just to make this dish.
Dancing for Rob while he played my guitar. Stupid, happy grins.
Dancing with Rob to twangy Pandora. Remembering the holiday season we spent with my family in North Carolina when we were still newlyweds. On New Year's Eve we went dancing at The New South with my gram and her new (4th) husband. Tell ya what, there were some real hot dogs doin' some fine steppin' in that dance hall. Near to midnight, that tricky Ladybug stole my partner and wouldn't give him back, not even for the countdown or Auld Lang Syne, and she left me doing the Twist with dear Tom, who was cheerfully stiff as a board and half as coordinated.
Walking in the bright sun, inspecting the new Front Runner station till the cold wind pained my ears. Being snatched up unexpectedly and carried over little snow drifts and slick spots.
Cleaning the house together.
Cooking for people I love.
Little traditions. Last night's gleeful Good Riddance ceremony for pyromanic pagan purification. New Year's Day soul food prescription: black-eyed peas and collard greens for success and wealth.
For the first time in ages, wishing to make resolutions for the new year, and then actually articulating them, writing them down. Many resolutions. And I added a few more just now. Maybe I'll keep adding all year. Could be this is really a bucket list taking shape. P.S. I'm abandoning perfectionism.
Rebooting my Morning Pages practice.
The beautiful dream I had early this morning, which not only broke a chronic, exhausting stretch of nightmares, but also acted as a kind of antidote to one particular recurring night terror I experience, the very worst of them. When I woke up I was filled with a sweet hopeful feeling that this year is going to be very good—lucky, even. The 13 I didn't realize I was waiting for! It's always been my number.
Guests. Family. Friends. Children, grownups. A stranger who isn't anymore. Pot luck. Easiness. Sharing a table, breaking bread. Plenty. Amazing my small nephew and niece with a tiny treasure—a hummingbird egg. Teaching them to make the sound of a galloping horse with fingersnaps and hand-pops. Shooting off bottle rockets in the front yard.
Cleaning the house together, again. Anticipating the gratitude I'll feel in the morning when I wake up to order.
Believing in the incredible, taking the long view of what's possible. Warming an egg that's gone cool and quiet because an even quieter whisper says, "Something beautiful may yet hatch, so get comfortable." I dedicate this year to whatever beauty inside is ready to come to life.