There are many days from my past that I love and long for, but didn't even realize then how much I loved them. How dearly I hold on to those days when Erin was an infant. Every day was a glorious miracle: nursing, napping, breathing the same air.
The days when I was so broke and believed I was sad and lonely, when I took Erin to the beach and slept on the rocks in the sun; the days when Cameron was a baby...I felt guilty all the time. Those days were NOT gods. I surely did not love them as I should have.
For a long time, if my days were gods, they were sleeping gods.
Oh but they awoke when I went home to Vermont. We were tucked in safe and sound, snuggled in Manchester. Again Ifailed to appreciate the dark silent mornings when I pulled my stool up to the counter and wore my red sweatpants and wrote. Always the fear of lack chained me down and kept me from seeing the god-ness of my days. No love. No money. General failure.
My days are gods again now, and I'm sure that later I will fear I missed them. How does one appreciate? By being humble and mindful.