The set-up is rather amusing. In order to get to the other part of the house in the morning, I descend the stairs, go out the front door, around to the outside garage door, walk through the garage to the family room where the miscellaneous things we need are all stacked in a corner. I took a bowl, a spoon, went out the back deck door, where I scooped up yogurt and pomegranates, exited the same way I entered, went through the front door, up the stairs, into my study to eat breakfast.
The same process was necessary to switch the wet clothes into the dryer. And again when it was time to leave. Part of the early morning rigamarole was done with a towel on my head in twenty degree weather. How amusing to the neighbor's if they happen to be watching.
Please don't tell anyone, but I think I miss order and organization. And washing my dishes.
Why is it that we can only appreciate certain things in the very absence of those things? Or the absence of certain people, or certain rituals?
My husband proposed how miraculous the rising of the sun is every morning. Yet, it would only be in the absence of this miracle that we would truly appreciate it.
And so, I try, to notice and appreciate the very things I take for granted: the fingers that are typing these words; my skin sensitivity and a jacket to put over my shoulders; the husband who has been there for 30 years; healthy children; my guiding inner compass.
Several notable gurus have suggested to end one's day with gratitude--with a list of things we take for granted in our lives. But I recently read that making this list in the morning is more powerful and more influential in the days we take for granted.
Never again take your fridge for granted--neither the ease of getting to its location.
