The small pleasures in life

Have you ever thought about how much you like to comment on the size of the moon with your loved one? I was driving up Sherwood Road this evening about 8:30, and suddenly, through the trees, as bright and clear as a bell, hung a magnificent moon. Not yet completely full but promising to be, soon, this gemstone in the night sky suddenly brought tears to my eyes. Such a simple, everyday thing. I'm beginning to think that these are the things that matter most. Not to be taken for granted.

Night skies and early morning fires in the big stove in the living room. Skip was a morning person. I had to learn to be one when we had children. But it's not my natural body rhythm. I had definitely reverted after we moved to the north coast. Skip would be awake at 6:00 and I would venture out around 8:00 to see and feel the warmth of a beautiful, crackling fire sending up its dancing images from below. I rarely failed to thank him for this gesture because each time I came out onto the balcony to that scent and warmth I felt such a genuine gratitude.

We're easing our way into our first winter without him. More keeps coming to my mind. If I had a class or a meeting to go to, I often found the windshield cleared of ice so I wouldn't be outside too long. Next would come the offer to open the gate for me. Guess I had it pretty good. You think?

I'm seriously contemplating getting an electric gate opener. Do they work if the power goes off? I don't mind the mornings, but I'm not too big on doing it in the pitch dark. Although I often think of it as a good test of my night vision, which I've been somewhat blessed with. Maybe it comes from growing up walking the winding paths and roads in Canyon at all times of the night. Not bad training for here or Echo, eh?

Will I be ready to brave Echo this coming year? I was scheduled to drive there in August, the day Skip became so ill. Didn't make it up there at all this year. I hope I'll be able to face it. It is a place we built together and both loved so much. I stayed there every summer with the children while Skip did field work during the week and then headed back to us each Friday night. I used to set out one of those classic red lanterns at the end of the dock for him to see his way into our cove. And then we'd walk out on the porch each time we thought we heard the familiar sound of that Mercury motor on the Searcher. I hope I'll be able to face it along with the so often repeated drive to get there. It's these little ordinary things that suddenly take on immense importance. I've answered my question already. I will go to Echo this summer.