week four: small pleasures

Sunday: Large steps in cleaning, preparation for Kelly's arrival. A postponement of her visit as her car is being cranky, another rain check, a promise to consider a tattoo in celebration of our friendship. A chilly day, but productive. Flower bulbs in the earth, a new header for the blog, and K being charming on the sofa, goofy commentary as I watch Little Miss Sunshine for the first bemused and happy time.

Monday: A quiet day. Watching the puppies chase each other about the yard from the window, eating strawberry ice cream, kissing K as the sun sets.

Tuesday: On the way to work, watching dust rise as two horses are at play, feeling my slack face creak into a morning smile. Ordering a fistful of blue irises for my beautiful friend who deserves and needs a little sunshine in her life.

Wednesday: A fabulous, enveloping thunderstorm, the threat of a tornado, sirens wailing. I love these kinds of storms, as long as everything is all right in the end.

Thursday: The sound of rain as my freshmen watch Romeo and Juliet. Accepting the Local High School position (and screaming just before doing so).

Friday: Telling them I got the job. The principal coming upstairs to shake my hand, telling me how happy he is and that he couldn't just tell me in an email. The principal's secretary following shortly after, giving me a big hug. Emily rushing to me to hug me after telling her in the morning, her happiness spreading throughout the wing and floor. My own relief becoming more real: I didn't just dream this.

Saturday: A nap that stretches longer than a bout of sleep. Seeing my parents, seeing my parents' dogs. Knowing that Maddie is hanging in there, even though she is old and arthritic. Penelope crawling into bed with me, her soft fur against my face, and in the morning, she licks my arms and hands, wanting to be social, wanting to greet the day. Penelope off her leash and not worrying, her bounding around the yard and listening when we call her back. The way K comes to me from his parents' house, twenty minutes away, when I need him to, his arms around me, and I can breathe again.