i had my dog out for her bedtime pause in the dry leaves, her final release before heading to her chair in our bedroom. a chair she will leave around 3 in the morning to sneak over to my side of the bed. admiring the moon, just visible beyond the window lit with twinkly lights through lace curtains, i was startled by the rain drops falling on my arm only to realize it was wine from my glass.

at that moment, while looking at the moon i believed it could also be raining.  this is either a tired way of living, a perfectly alive way of seeing all that is possible, or likely somewhere in between.

lice. hot coffee every morning. vintage elves to perch on the window sill. the dog eating the cream cheese before i can spread my son’s bagel. cleaning poop off the creases of a shy child’s body. watching the sun shine through a water pitcher. a kitchen sink that reflects my face. floors so dirty my feet are textured.

books that take me to a town i want to be in. my daughter writing a speech about composting and agriculture. a van cleaned from all food wrappers and fruit peels. a favorite chicken that dies, ribs and flesh exposed. babies adopted. finding matching socks in three loads of clean laundry within 10 seconds. the mind numbing drives between school and home. the mind blowing gratitude for my children.

anything is possible.  anything should be expected.

and that, my friends, is my life work.
wait for it.  watch for it.
welcome it even if you want it to leave.
let it go even if you want it to stay.
onward!  let’s do this!

i’ve found myself stumped a bit about this blog space.  when my mind is wider than the day to day events caught on my camera, it’s been hard to give life to those images.  when the world is aching and killing each other, how do i give honor to our chickens at the county fair and the crafty project i did with my kids?  when my children scream with anxiety and stomp feet in anger, how do i boast the joy of a walk on the trail and fancy drinks at the coffee shop?  when there are people who are lonely and left out of the loop, how do i rejoice in my wholeness and the food a friend fed me?

i can almost see the face of a therapist years ago, the many times she smiled and nodded and said, “can’t it be both?”

so here’s to it being both and everything and nothing and something all at the same time (raising my cup that i thought was rain).