My day started sluggishly. After helping the kids out the door, I lay on the couch, scrolling through my phone and bemoaning my (practical, sound, UN-FUN) decision not to join my writer friends at a conference this week in California.
My friend Jim posted on Facebook about the miracle of an ordinary day, and a reminder to get busy living. I took it as a cue to get the hell off of Facebook.
As it poured rain, I ran on the treadmill watching a comedy special. Moving and laughing shook off a little gloom.
By the time I went to tutor at school, the sun shone, my skin finally felt warm, and I saw green chutes and magnolia blossoms announcing spring’s arrival at long long looooooong last.
A first grade girl–passing me in the hallway on her way back from recess–gave me a dandelion.
On my walk home, I noticed the infant burning bush we had planted this fall sprouting buds, despite looking very deceased until yesterday. (You can barely make it out in the picture below, dwarfed by its thriving and aged auntie).
Today felt like someone turned the lights on; first Jim, then a first grade girl, some hopeful buds, and also me. I celebrated with a mango lassi.
