pieces fit
Every once in a great while, it seems like all (or at least most of) the pieces of a particular day just fit together just right and I end up … content. It’s almost always retrospective – there’s nothing I can do to force it to happen, but when it does I can always look back at my day and see why I’m so comfortable and happy at its close.
There’s a pork loin roasting in my oven. It’s in the low 70s outside, my windows and doors are open, and there’s a delicious post-rainfall, thunderstorm-tinged breeze blowing through my apartment. Aimee Mann is on the stereo, and my laptop and I didn’t have to jump through any computational hoops to get her there. I spent the afternoon with my Dad, loading rifle cartridges. I spent the mid-day with a great group of geocachers exploring the adventure possibilities afforded by downtown Rochester. I spent the morning at church with Kelly. She smiled through the whole service for the first time ever.
Now I’m going to spend the evening eating honey-mustard-marinated roasted pork, listening to folky chick-rock, and scrawling in my black notebook…
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