It was cold, but the sun was shining and the cat was on her lap, comfortably on her lap, asleep with that faint snoring/purring sound it had mastered.
Cats know a lot about breathing, she wrote in her journal, the first sentence for the first day of the week, for Monday, a day of invitation and possibility, a whole day, a whole week, a whole life ahead. It was a day with the gift of waking up, filling the cat's dish, making coffee, pouring the cereal and beginning.
"Every day is a beginning," she said, out loud. Nobody heard, not even the snoring, purring cat on her lap heard.
"But I heard," she said, not realizing her stream of thoughts had escaped, had been spoken aloud. She should have known. It was one of those facts, one of the gifts of living alone. Everything in the open, even the daily minutiae of the moment--the pleasures--warm cat in her lap; first day of the week, the possibilities ahead.
And the problem: what to do today?
She knew Monday's answer, always the same: Rejoice in the moment, in the day, celebrate the gift of being and being enough.
And so she did.
This is a gift and reminder. Thank you
ReplyDeleteI love this reminder to be grateful for each day, Kathy! Thank you for sharing your pocket stories.
ReplyDeleteKathy, this is lovely—a good reminder that “now really is a special occasion!”
ReplyDeleteWith the children, we must remember that every day is a new day!
ReplyDeleteThanks for this, Kathy. It made me think, there was a period several months ago when I was talking out loud to myself a lot. Bob commented and that must have shut me up. I miss the company. K
ReplyDeletePutter and I enjoyed this musing.
ReplyDelete