11.30.2011

one thousand tiny moments

::sidles in::

Well, hello there.

After a holiday-induced brief bloggy-break (try saying "brief bloggy-break" 3 times fast, heh) I have returned, bigger and better* than ever!  *(okay, i cannot promise that anything here is actually bigger or better.  your mileage may vary.  void where prohibited.)

Since I didn't blog around Thanksgiving, I missed out on the timely opportunity to list all the things I'm thankful for.  Which is something you should probably be thankful for, since the list is long, and not likely to be terribly entertaining to people other than me.  It includes mostly snippets, wisps of ideas, tiny details that weave together into something warm and comforting.  Long, criss-crossed eyelashes.  Kitten tongues.  Misspelled words on pictures drawn for me by children.  The precise and comforting weight of my father's arm around my shoulder.

This



and this


and this



(For the record, I am also thankful for blog readers who bear with me when I say things like, "I'm not going to list what I'm thankful for" and then proceed to do exactly that.  I can only hope you will always be this patient with me, my friends.)

There are big things to be thankful for this year: that I am still breathing.  That I found an amazing person to marry who actually wanted to marry me back.  That I am surrounded by people who I love, and who love me.

But it's all these small things, these details... the twinkle of flame-lit street lamps against the sky at dusk, the way my sister's dimple curls in the exact same place on her cheek as mine, the thrum of the train as I ride into work every morning... that make up the whole of my days.  These are the things that I want to remember.  These are the things that I want to write about, in the hope that no one else misses them.

So happy belated Thanksgiving.  I hope yours, like mine, was full of one thousand tiny moments worth remembering.

3 comments:

  1. And a Happy even-more-belated Thanksgiving to you.

    One of my moments worth remembering was serving a feast of corn to wild turkeys in the yard as one of their domestic cousins was being basted inside.

    And yeah, I miss those "flame-lit street lamps against the sky at dusk," which reminds me of the purple twilight over Boston and the brick sidewalks of Marlborough Street.

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  2. There's something almost poetic in that... feeding those you eat, etc. :) I love it.

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  3. Yeah, and there's also a warning - don't become domesticated: stay wild. :-)

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