A life more ordinary

Last week, Linda of All & Sundry and Purple is a Fruit posted this quote:  "There are random moments . . . when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead. [...] It's not always visible, but it's what holds everything together." I've had the post open in my browser since Wednesday, going back to read the post and nod emphatically every now and then.

Tonight, Sunday night, I am practicing this religion of small, arbitrary moments of painful happiness. Nothing exceptional is happening. I am watching the Discovery Channel and cheerfully screwing up a sample Christmas ornament. The cat is sleeping in an endearing, rumpled heap by the heat vent. MB is researching Labrador retrievers and Lab rescues, and we are talking a bit about the dog we hope to adopt when we buy a house. We were never dog people, always swore we'd stick to cats, but then my parents adopted a puppy and MB had a change of heart. We've picked a name, maybe. MB stumbled upon it at dinner the other night and I'm hoping it sticks. The dryer is humming out a tuneless drone of mundane and comforting domesticity. Tomorrow, a day off earned by working extra hours on a big and now-complete work project, stretches out before me, full of promise.

In years past, I'm fairly sure I dreaded the thought of an ordinary life, scoffed at the idea of the cliche dog and picket fence and 2.5 kids. Now, I recognize a quiet, happy life for the blessing it is, and I am so very thankful. And breathlessly joyful.




Reading:  The Grey King by Susan Cooper