A Day of Dreams and Optimism

New Year's Day dawned bright and beautiful on sunny Southern California.  We watched the pomp that is the Rose Parade (on television), listening to the broadcasters describe the balmy weather, and realizing that wow, they were talking about us!  We live in this golden land, under brilliant blue skies, surrounded by mountains.  It truly was a gorgeous day.

It would have been hard not to spend the day in contemplation of the coming year.  The new year holds such promise, with the days yet unwritten.  We feel nearly invincible, as if a date on the calendar imbues us with superpowers of resolve and discipline.

If we view our character traits as flaws we believe ourselves able to change them.  We see past mistakes and feel capable of making amends.

We find closure with painful events from the preceding year.  We imagine a year with more joy and fewer heartaches.

I close my eyes and imagine how I want my life to be.  There is time for myself, for Papa, for my boys, for us as a family.  There is integration of loving, living, and learning.  We have togetherness ~ working together, playing together, being together.

I see light, natural materials, warm colors.  The house I see is tidy, but not perfect, with our projects spread here and there, and always books.

I feel warmth; sunlight streaming through softly curtained windows, a fire burning in the hearth, the comforting weight of a hand-pieced quilt.  I feel smooth, timeworn wood beneath my feet.  I feel arms around me and warm hands in mine, large and small.  I feel the soft fur of my sweet canine.  I feel yarn in my hands, twirling around sticks.

I hear music and laughter, hushed voices, imaginative stories, a child reading to his favorite bear, the whistle of the kettle.  Late at night I hear the hush of a sleeping house.  I hear the words "I love you."

I smell freshly cut grass, chrysanthemums and roses, and redwood trees;  soups, stews, roasts, cookies, cornbread, and rice; beeswax, lavender, and citrus.  I bury my nose in a pile of fresh laundry and the damp hair of a just-showered boy.  I smell earth, damp and rich.

I taste sweet honey on my lips, fresh scrambled eggs with goat cheese, and homemade chicken soup; plus delightful combinations ~ vanilla and white chocolate, pears and blueberries, potatoes and cabbage.

I see, touch, hear, smell, and taste the life I already have.  I don't have to imagine anything; it is all there, waiting for me to stop and realize it.