Today is a pretty and, even better, a warm day at 41°. A slight breeze only ruffles the few brown oak leaves hanging from the ends of the branches. Right now the sky is a lovely deep blue but clouds are expected for the afternoon. I have a couple of errands.

Every now and then I have a perfect moment, a time when everything aligns. They aren’t usually monumental moments though that does sometimes happen, but, rather, they are mostly every day moments. The other night I had a perfect moment. The house was quiet. I could hear the dogs breathing as they slept one on each side of me on the couch. I was reading my new book from Christmas and drinking a cup of coffee. I was content. I could feel it.

When I travel, I love the mornings best. I like to take an early walk. People are going to work, and trucks are unloading, parked on the streets. It is an ordinary day in their lives. As for me, I’m a traveler. No day is ordinary. Every day becomes a memory, starting with the mornings.

I have been crowned sloth queen, queen of the sloths, or any other name you want to use to recognize my ascendency to the throne. I have done nothing in the last couple of days. Oh wait! I did nap a few times, okay a lot of times so I still have tables covered in decorations. My cold is to blame, but my cold is almost gone. I guess I could blame the dogs next.

The fun of Christmas for me has always been the search for the perfect presents for my sisters and my friends. For a few years I stitched all their gifts. I’ve brought back gifts after every trip to Ghana and my trip to Morocco. I like to shop the small stores, the one of a kind stores, to find different gifts. I do love thrift shopping but haven’t done much lately. That sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday.

Nala was playing in the hall with a toy which, when I checked, turned out to be my embroidered Irish harp, a travel gift from friends who are gone. I walked toward Nala all the while pretending I didn’t care. She caught on and ran outside, harp in mouth. I coaxed her inside, harp-less, with a treat and went outside to save the harp. It was just fine, not a mark, but while I was in the yard, I decided to do some clean-up: a dog food can, a couple of paper towels, a paper plate, the headless body of a Santa and the hat still headless from the same Santa. The mystery of it all: where is the head?

This entry was posted on January 13, 2025 at 2:20 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.