A good day.
I woke up early. I ate some breakfast. I flipped through a magazine. I went back to my bed and lay prostrate for a bit. I began reading a great book that David gave Lyndsey and I ('Girl Meets God' by Lauren F. Winner- very interesting thus far... all about a girl who converts from Judaism to Christianity). I read a few chapters, wondered into the living room, and then finished up watching 'Oceans 11' on t.v. I love that movie. All of it. Every bit. Especially the Brad Pitt part.
This afternoon has been spent talking to a few folks on the phone, paying some bills, actually getting dressed... I'm wearing one of my favorite skirts. I like it because it swishes around my ankles and makes me feel a bit more graceful than I actually am.
And now I sit, listening to Joshua James (a fellow Nebraskan, I just discovered) serenade me, finishing up my mug of tea (oh Lord, I am my mother) and pondering my next move. In and through all of these minimal things I couldn't help but think, what a good day.
One of my favorite Annie Dillard quotes goes as follows: "There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by." I couldn't agree more... and I have to wonder why that is. Why are days- hours and minutes- so easily recognized as good, but not our months, our years, our lives?
Give me your thoughts.