Before even stepping into Andy's slippers this morning (old habits die hard) I heard the barking seal downstairs and I knew. Grayson will stay home from school today. Not much temperature to speak of but that cough alone would warrant early pickup.
The windshield on my car is completely frosted over. Abby sleeps soundly on our bed half little girl half baby plump sweetness. Sadie is climbing on top of the couch five feet away avoiding complete eye contact with her ready maple eyes. She would spring to attention if I even whispered "squirrel" right now, so I won't.
I am sitting in my grandparents' old leather rocker in pjs and a favorite cowl neck sweater that has been somehow demoted to house robe. Cold coffee in a USMC mug I can't put in the dishwasher because the lip was dipped in gold or something.
The rocker I'm in is the only place left of my home. Not this home. Not our old PA home. The home I grew up in and memorized so well it's not worth missing because I am inside it when I close my eyes.
But the soft sticky leather crunching sound it makes when you first sit down is the reason I'll never throw it away. This sound is my earthly tie with peace. These creases darkened with years upon years of rocking, zenning out, meditating might as well be wrinkles on my face. This big ugly chair has its stubby little arms outstretched and this morning is as good as any morning to embrace what's good, so very good, in hopes to keep that spirit pumping through the day, the week, the clean new year.
Lawd knows, it cannot start out with an icy cold frosted over windshield.