I’m sitting here with Charlie. He’s sound asleep against my left leg. This is what we do each morning without fail.
Music is playing and I also hear the sound of the washer washing a couple of blanket throws.
The lamp light casts a yellowish glow across my house plants on the shelf I rescued years ago from the trash heap.
And All Is Well:
All is well with my little world in my one bedroom apartment. The one I’ve lived in seven years come April.
It is cold. Seems to me this year has been colder than it’s been in the recent past. Plus we’ve already had three snow events. Small ones, but still.
I sit among my plants and my books lined up in the bookshelf and with music playing in the background.
Ivy is sleeping at the top of her tower by the French doors.
Ivy & Her Q-Tips:
Last night she wanted me to throw those ridiculous Q-tips she favors. After I toss it she scampers after it like a kitten. If I ever wondered what “scampered” looked like, now I know.
Ivy hops along like a little rabbit. I find myself smiling because in her head she is probably still that little kitten left with her siblings and no mother in sight.
Maybe her mother was run over by a car, or something else happened to her.
But Ivy and her siblings were taken in by Animal Rescue where I found her five months later. Only a few of the kittens lived, as they were only a few weeks old when they were found abandoned.
I’m so grateful for my sweet Ivy. She is so adventurous and curious and funny. Whereas Charlie is quiet and stays close to me.
Of course I’m grateful for him as well. For the fourteen years he has slept at the foot of my bed every single night.
So on this Sunday morning, especially after the week’s events, I feel so thankful that I am warm and safe and sound.
I will do several loads of laundry and hang sheets around the apartment, as I have no way to dry them. It is a small hindrance. I just layer them about till they dry.
I don’t plan to go out today. I’m thinking about making tuna salad for lunch and there would then be enough for supper. Haven’t had that in quite a while.
I’ll mix mayonnaise and pickles, chopped up red onion and an egg, add a bit of spice and eat it on toast.
The Music Warms Me:
The music, soft and slow, warms me too. Paul Cardall and his piano has beat its rhythm into my heart. Finally the man has a whole heart, as he was born with only half a heart at birth.
The beat of his heart goes into his music.
One can almost see him sitting there, his fingers moving along in a slow dance, creating a melody that stays with you.
Oh, The Words:
I find myself humming his music as I go about my day.
To have such talent is remarkable to me. I was never good at playing instruments. But then I never had the urge to learn how.
Words are my playground.
Always have been from early on in my life.
I hope they speak to you in some way. Whisper something sweet into your ear from time to time.
I had a dream the other night. A dream where I was not out on my own yet. Still wishing for a place to call mine.
I felt the fear within the confines of my dream, the fear of thinking I could never do it on my own.
Then I woke up, a bit confused for a moment as to where I was, and realized that the dream got it wrong. I am in my own little space.
Happy, content and grateful. Right where I want to be.