These Times

"Wasn't that neat seeing a fast-forward video of a dandelion last night?" I say.  Fresh up the front drive, morning run in our wake, Jane and I visit, sun soft on our cheeks.

"Yeah," she says. It was." She pauses as if "was" were large and round. "Though I have to admit," she says, "to having a chronic dislike of dandelions."

"Hah," I say. "I know what you mean." And like that we are through the front door, the house quiet for encircling nine, warm light skittering across the hardwood floors. The morning turned past noon, I herald everyone in.

"We have to leave by 1:00," I say. Everyone pulls hard on the oars of time to row, row us all ready and set to leave.

"Joe's hair needs a little bit of guidance," Jane calls, hand cupped around her mouth, eyebrows and cheeks drawn up in bow. I snicker, but swept in the twirl-wind of gathering seven children into the car and off to Toastmasters, I forget about Joe's masterful hair.

"Oh," I say when the speech teacher pauses and admires the high-in-front doo. "That's self-made hair," I say.

"Yep," he says. A masterpiece.

Gratitude:

6543. We take a vacation to the ocean. So much family surrounding us, twenty-seven of us, we savor the relationships, roam the beach, and play and make worship together. Magnificent. We store up the memories like special treasures.

6544. Our greenhouse plants continue to grow-grow-grow into lush specimens.

6545. We settle into the comfort and routines of home like the chorus a song sung a hundred times. We determine to enjoy it as much as the sea, each thing in its time.