Right now, it's night time. Our bellies are full from home made chicken noodle soup and biscuits loaded with butter.
Right now, the dog is asleep on her freshly washed bed that she pushed and kneaded and wrangled back to the shape it was before I threw it in the washing machine earlier today. Her back turned towards me tells me that she thought her bed was just fine the way it was.
Right now, I'm sitting next to David on the couch as he writes his first query letter to a stranger behind an editing desk at a publishing house, hoping that he will read the prologue and the first three chapters of David's book and write him back, begging him for the publishing rights. We have our fingers crossed.
Right now, as I look back over my tumultuous day, I am relieved to think that it's almost over and I can crawl into our freshly sheeted bed and read about what it takes to be a combat photographer before getting up in the morning and beginning all over again.
Right now, I think about tomorrow, about the few errands I need to run, about the bread I plan on making this weekend, about the possibility of a "wintery mix" that may or may not happen Thursday (I hope it snows buckets). I think about wanting to look back and see that I've accomplished something in my life, that I lived without the "woulda/coulda/shoulda's" of the world. I think about family and how that is all that really and truly matters in this life. I think about sorrow and laughter, about hurt and joy, about stopping and starting again. I think of moments gained and moments lost. I think about grief, and wonder at the amount of tears a body can produce. I think about laughter and how proud I am of my laugh wrinkles that surround my eyes. They are the reminders of the afternoons spent on my childhood home's back porch, giggling and belly laughing with my mom and my big sister. I think about joy and how much it surrounded me as I grew up: my grandaddy and his twinkly grin that began in his eyes and washed down his face like a waterfall, my grandmother laughing so hard that she'd have to run to the bathroom, my other grandpa slapping his leg and roaring with laughter when I accidentally backed up and ran over his mailbox when I was learning to drive.
Right now, I think about family, about moments, about laughter and grief.
Right now, I think about love and family and how phenomenally blessed I am to have both.