It's Just That Simple

My eyes blink, coaxed by the warmth of the early morning light pooling, then spilling, over the edges of the skylight above my bed. I don’t set an alarm because the sun’s gentle nudge ensures that I don’t oversleep.  I reach over to turn on my phone, eyes skimming the lopsided pile of books teetering on the edge of my nightstand. Piles of smooth, papery, crinkly words beckoning and yet waiting, patiently.   

Hot water streams over me, rinsing salty sleep, swirling dreams, and stray curls down and away. The towels warm embrace.  I sate my thirsty legs with their favorite drink - the frangipani oil that smells like a cocktail of beach and naps and deep sighs. Then, a Q-tip. Almost burning from the hot tap water, swirling in one ear, and then circling in the other, waking my senses down to my toenails.

 

In the mirror, a blank canvas to be painted for the day’s work glances back. A splash of coral, silk draping here, a bold pattern, and notice-me-now necklace, elevating my small frame to feel every inch the 6 foot, male-dominated work force.  Armed for battle, a workplace warrior.

Time slows as I reach for the largest, roundest coffee mug. Brimming precariously to the edge with rich, multi-layered coffee. Swirls of heavy, white cream and crunchy, tan sugar crystals. Stir. Smell. Stir again. Ah.

I could tell you about the demanding clients, the wall-to-wall conference calls, the tantruming children, or the fact that my body began to melt into my office chair until I became the very shape of it.

I could, but I won’t.  

Instead, I will tell you that when the computers and children sleep, sated and spent from their day of demands, I sneak into the kitchen. And I take the very last lemon curd and lemon glazed doughnut I baked this weekend.  I slide into my car, and as the garage door lowers, the tart treat melts on my tongue while Nina Simone drips from my speakers.  I drive and sing and savor with the windows down, taking long, hungry gulps at the still cold but not quite frigid air. And return to a warm house. With sleeping children. And running water. And food.

The small, as sweet as it gets.

And the mundane is mind-numbingly miraculous.

Sometimes, it really is that simple. 

 

Published at: Mamalode. 

Inspired by a prompt from a Jena Schwartz (Promptress Extraordinaire) writing group.