Poem

You are my light
in the dark,
my beacon
on a hill,
the only one
I want
to come
home to.

A poem.
From husband.

The words encircle us,
loop and spiral,
wheel and whirl.

Our world orbits the poem-words
gravity between us.
I memorize small lines
at his eyes,
and rest
in the crook
of his arm.





Gratitude:

397. Chicken soup with rice -- my first try.

398. Hot chocolate with vanilla beans and cream.

399. Vanilla beans.

400. Lulie's wide eyes when I explain that the public toilet won't flush her down, although I did one time hear about someone that accidentally flushed their keys down. And her serious blink and, "Holy moley."

401. How Janie trolleys everyone in for naps on Saturday -- their giddy grins irrepressible from the broken open binkie-bin from storage, the one they stole binkies from and hid under all their pillows.

402. Patient children who forgive me when I shout about the banana on Lulie's dress right before we leave for church.

403. The miracle, we pull into church 1 min. early.

404. The amazing, awesome, good deal we find on a computer that turns out to be stolen and how we don't buy it. How doing the right thing is always, well, the right thing.

405. Husband, who says, "I'm not worried, things just always seem to work out for me."

406. The confidence I borrow from him.

407. The continual ebb and flow of children and laundry through the house.

408. How Rosie humors the children trying binkie after binkie, old relics of Janie's babyhood.

409. How we sing carols down the halls of a nursing home in town.

410. The children gathered elbow-deep in fabric to cut bookmarks before I even get up in the morning -- bookmarks for the nursing home. And how they press the gifts into Ron's hand quietly after Happy Birthday and a hug.

411. Ron with a wide smile and a wooden cane and the woman who cannot speak but sang along to the carols.

412. How Lulie hugs my leg and peeks around at the residents.

413. How our children drew names for Christmas this year, the giddy secret-name bubbling on the tip of their tongues.

414. Jack's whisperer each morning to me in bed, "Momma, I made you a present, do you want to open it?" More bookmarks.

415. Prayer with my parents and how my dad is such a man of integrity even at great personal cost.

416. Penzy spices.

417. How my mom is always kind. A dignity giver.

418. Dinners on the farm, cousins, fresh potatoes from the cellar, beets, sweet potatoes, turkey sent home in a baggie for later. Arms-wide-open generosity. In-laws become parents to me.

419. Sledding children before farm dinner.

420. Oranges. And how Jack can't resist eating his like an apple when I step into the kitchen.

421. Another night's sleep and everyone well.