Easy Like Sunday Morning

Image by my friend Amateur Photographer Janet Hoots...and while this is clearly a sunSET, it captures the "fire" I spoke of near the end.

I move around the kitchen before sunrise, quietly doing dishes from the party the night before. It's funny how such a normally mundane task can feel quite lovely in the wake of a chaotic, anything-but-normal, virtual waking nightmare of a week. Just hot soapy water against the crystal wine glass gives me a tiny scrap of peace, a gift that has been in short supply of late. I've checked on the sleeping baby and my conked out husband before slipping out onto the deck and watching the sky turn every shade of pastel. Even as I wonder why the heck I'm up so early, I am glad for the respite.

The mountain man's condition has improved, but to what extent and for how long remains a mystery. I am relieved that his suffering has been eased, especially in light of the fact that he despised being hospitalized, even if it was his choice. Yielding results he can feel good about was the goal and that was accomplished. I don't know what's ahead...and let's be real, nobody does. I only know I am bracing myself as best I can, because this moment is the eye of the storm that's all around, a storm that will break with a vengeance before long, leaving God knows what debris in its wake.

Twenty-four hours of normal and a morning that began too early, but is tender, easy on my bruised spirit...I'll take it and be grateful. I wonder if I have the strength of character to face what's coming with Grace, especially with the years-built-up bouts of fury lurking in dark places, stewing like some boiling cauldron dangerously close to spilling over. Aunt Mattie would have been meticulously kind, infinitely forgiving, and make both of those look effortless. I am not her, even though at times like this I desperately wish I were. I struggle to be the best version of myself every single day and to be someone SHE would be proud of. It's probably okay that in my worst moments, I must repeat over and over in my head, "Do the loving thing, Amy. Do the loving thing." I'm sure nobody would hold it against me if they knew I needed to psyche myself out on occasion. Perhaps that just makes me ridiculously human, and flawed. I look to the sky, the sun now rising like fire over the horizon and sacrifice my insecurities on a cosmic alter in the flames of starry morning light.