it's the little things
It struck me today that, for me, what I really need to feel that life is worth living is just a series of tiny, fabulous, reminders that there are things in the world that I love...
Dylan Thomas.
Bob Dylan.
being a regular at Cecil's dinner and movie nights, and no one minding that I fall asleep first EVERY time.
new silver jewelry.
black and white pictures.
pictures I've taken where I really nailed what I wanted - like the one of Jo looking off to the left, with her neck so regal-looking, or the one of Cassidy Brotherton off to the right in perfect focus, with the playground behind her blurred out, or the one of Donna and Emily on the front porch.
the trees on Reynolda Road by Marguerite Drive, in any season at all, even winter when the leaves are gone, but especially on days like today when they're leafy and luscious, or in mid-autumn when I'm the only car on the road and all the fallen leaves swirl up around my car like surely something myseterious and surprising is just around the corner.
the fact that I get to speak and hear Spanish every single day now, and it's real, and I'm good at it.
Stephen Stills songs.
the golden glow of an acoustic guitar - even just the look of one, without any sound.
that look Savannah gets when she sees me.
the fact that living alone means I can eat cheap dinners for a week, and then splurge on fresh mozzarella for a mozzarella-cucumber-tomato salad, like last night.
singing and driving with the windows down.
picking fruit in the summertime.
having people be excited to run into me, just at a moment when I'm leaning towards self-pity. people's faces getting sparkly smiles when they see me.
random memories that come up when songs are on the radio... and phone conversations like last week, when I just had to call Will because "Meet in the Middle" was on and it always makes me think of him.
blackberry cobbler and ice cream on the patio on a summer evening.
little kids selling lemonade.
seeing old friends, like Shane last night, and having them remember the same things you remember - because all of a sudden you know that what was important to you about that old friendship was also important to them.
the smell of books. this really cute little family was walking into Barnes & Noble today when I was walking out, and one of the girls (maybe she was eight) said, excitedly, "it smells like fresh books in here!" and it did.
having something fun at the bottom of my daily calendar, like, after a whole day of meetings, seeing "take Lea Bentley's pictures" or "Thirsty Thursday!" written in one of the slots.
catching the eye of one of the people at work who I'm not supposed to talk to ("you need to be careful that you're only spending work time with people you are actually working with") like Donna, Karen, Kathy, and Becky, and seeing that sparkly chuckle-y look in their eyes that I feel in my own, and suddenly not needing to say anything anyway, because we both know that we're both thinking about what a bogus place the school is sometimes.
having people at work like Donna, Karen, Kathy, and Becky to begin with, whether or not I'm supposed to talk to them.
listening to mix CDs or tapes that other people made, and realizing how much the music they picked is the same music you would've picked for them. that understanding of someone else.
songs that other people wrote but that are completely my life - specifically, "I Go Back" by Kenny Chesney - even if every single damn time I hear them, I have to cry.
farmer's market tomatoes and strawberries.
fresh flowers in my apartment.
and on and on...
Dylan Thomas.
Bob Dylan.
being a regular at Cecil's dinner and movie nights, and no one minding that I fall asleep first EVERY time.
new silver jewelry.
black and white pictures.
pictures I've taken where I really nailed what I wanted - like the one of Jo looking off to the left, with her neck so regal-looking, or the one of Cassidy Brotherton off to the right in perfect focus, with the playground behind her blurred out, or the one of Donna and Emily on the front porch.
the trees on Reynolda Road by Marguerite Drive, in any season at all, even winter when the leaves are gone, but especially on days like today when they're leafy and luscious, or in mid-autumn when I'm the only car on the road and all the fallen leaves swirl up around my car like surely something myseterious and surprising is just around the corner.
the fact that I get to speak and hear Spanish every single day now, and it's real, and I'm good at it.
Stephen Stills songs.
the golden glow of an acoustic guitar - even just the look of one, without any sound.
that look Savannah gets when she sees me.
the fact that living alone means I can eat cheap dinners for a week, and then splurge on fresh mozzarella for a mozzarella-cucumber-tomato salad, like last night.
singing and driving with the windows down.
picking fruit in the summertime.
having people be excited to run into me, just at a moment when I'm leaning towards self-pity. people's faces getting sparkly smiles when they see me.
random memories that come up when songs are on the radio... and phone conversations like last week, when I just had to call Will because "Meet in the Middle" was on and it always makes me think of him.
blackberry cobbler and ice cream on the patio on a summer evening.
little kids selling lemonade.
seeing old friends, like Shane last night, and having them remember the same things you remember - because all of a sudden you know that what was important to you about that old friendship was also important to them.
the smell of books. this really cute little family was walking into Barnes & Noble today when I was walking out, and one of the girls (maybe she was eight) said, excitedly, "it smells like fresh books in here!" and it did.
having something fun at the bottom of my daily calendar, like, after a whole day of meetings, seeing "take Lea Bentley's pictures" or "Thirsty Thursday!" written in one of the slots.
catching the eye of one of the people at work who I'm not supposed to talk to ("you need to be careful that you're only spending work time with people you are actually working with") like Donna, Karen, Kathy, and Becky, and seeing that sparkly chuckle-y look in their eyes that I feel in my own, and suddenly not needing to say anything anyway, because we both know that we're both thinking about what a bogus place the school is sometimes.
having people at work like Donna, Karen, Kathy, and Becky to begin with, whether or not I'm supposed to talk to them.
listening to mix CDs or tapes that other people made, and realizing how much the music they picked is the same music you would've picked for them. that understanding of someone else.
songs that other people wrote but that are completely my life - specifically, "I Go Back" by Kenny Chesney - even if every single damn time I hear them, I have to cry.
farmer's market tomatoes and strawberries.
fresh flowers in my apartment.
and on and on...