1. Morning walks. We had some really cold mornings this week, 12-19 degrees, (but no snow of any significance and I’m so ready for it!), and Eric was on fall break, so I only went on one of the walks and he did the rest — and even when I went, we waited a bit to leave until it was light out and getting a bit warmer, so even though I got up at our regular time, I immediately got on the couch and took a nap until we were finally ready to go.

2. Eric. I loved having him around more this week, after so many months of him working almost every day and later than usual. We were standing in the kitchen one morning talking as I was washing the tea cup I use for the herbs my acupuncturist gives me. It’s a gorgeous Japanese hand-crafted cup with no handle, the body glazed a tan rough speckle pattern and the rim a shiny smooth ripple of light blue, which always reminded me of the beach, that point where the water meets the sand. A friend gave it to me and for a long time I didn’t even use it, just sat it on my writing desk to admire. 

While Eric and I were talking, I was drying the cup and as I turned away from the sink, still rubbing at the remaining water with the towel, it slipped out of my hands and shattered on the floor. Ringo came running to see what was happening, alerted by the sound of the mug hitting the floor and my yelp as it did. I picked up the bigger pieces while Eric vacuumed up the smaller shards. As I am wont to do, one of my first thoughts was, “What does this mean?” It was my special cup for my herbs, which I brew and drink every morning and night, a tiny ritual, given to me by a friend, so is there a message here? I know it’s irrational and dumb to think like that, but I can’t seem to break the habit of looking for hidden meaning in everything.

I didn’t think much more about it because it was time to go write with my Friday morning group. I wrote a bit about the mug during our session. Eric had left to go to the gym, and was still gone when we finished up. I came in to the kitchen and found this on the counter.

It turns out, Eric had already bought me a new tiny Japanese mug for Christmas, and he said as soon as my other hit the floor, he knew he’d give it to me early. So not only did he help me clean up the broken bits, he replaced what I’d lost in the breaking — there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, I think. It doesn’t matter that it’s really too small for what I need, it’s the magic of that moment when I came out and found it on the counter — the medicine of that attention, care, and love that matters so much, makes me so grateful for him. He also bought me lilies, so I had flowers in the bathroom this week.

3. Practice. Writing with my Friday morning sangha, sitting in meditation in my practice room, and doing yoga with Ringo in the living room.

4. Family. A lot happened this week — my uncle was placed in memory care (he has Lewy’s Body Dementia) and during his first week they had a outbreak of the stomach flu and he got sick, my aunt was in the hospital in the ICU until her heart finally gave out and stopped, the considerations and complications of my mom’s care continues, and there were a lot of related texts and emotional work.

There was also sweetness — we had a quiet day eating good food (Eric made me an apple pie, a recipe that uses apple cider and maple syrup for sweetness) and resting and being grateful for our tiny family, our small house, our little life. And even though we were here and they were there, both our families got together to eat — our remaining parents, sibling, nieces and nephews, and great grandkids. At Mom’s, my nieces did all the cooking while my brother entertained the littles, giving them ads from the newspaper and telling them to cut out pictures of what they wanted for Christmas. Mom seemed happy, and I’m sure she enjoyed the food and the company.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. There are a lot of things in my life that I didn’t get right, a lot of mistakes and bad choices, but this little life here with them isn’t one of those. In this case, I feel like I did everything right.

Bonus joy: how Ringo has stared finally using the bed under my writing desk — he’s there right now (Eric called back a bit ago, “Is he back there with you?”) and I just sighed and Ringo answered back with his own and I could live in that moment forever, apple pie and other yummy leftovers, plans for dinner with our friends, clean sheets, my weighted blanket, white cheddar popcorn, blankets, down blankets and pillows, wool socks and sweaters, how cute Ringo is in his new coat, good books, listening to podcasts, watching TV and movies, naps, aqua aerobics, the hydromassage chair, the sauna, how when Eric gets bored and doesn’t know what else to do he cleans, pay day, online shopping (seriously, ever since COVID, shopping in person if it’s not for groceries or pet supplies is something I just don’t like — too much noise and too many people and they are all touching everything), libraries and librarians and being able to get eBooks for my Kindle, poetry and poets, the birthday watercolor Chloe’ painted for me, twinkle lights, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.

1. Morning walks. I don’t like to think about what my life would be like right now without Ringo or some other dog that needed to be walked first thing every morning. I’m pretty sure there are some days it would be almost impossible to get out of bed. But I do have him and those walks are medicine. The naps we take together on the couch later are a close second, but also depend on him being there.

2. Aimee Mann. I’ve loved her since high school, since ‘Til Tuesday, and continue to adore her. Luckily, Eric likes her too, so any time she comes to Colorado, I know he’ll go see her with me. I think we’ve seen her about 6 or 7 times now, maybe more? This week we saw her one night in Boulder and the next night in Fort Collins where we also had the company of some friends. Her opener was also really good, really funny, so not what I expected when he stepped on stage. Both shows were a good reminder that music can be medicine and as hard as it was to be up and out late two weeknights in a row, it was so worth it. 

3. Practice. There was a puppy in yoga again this week. My Friday morning writing sangha is one of the things keeping me soft and sane, more than usual, along with my morning meditation practice. 

4. Self-care, as in taking care of myself. I was on a roll for a bit but taking a shower was harder this week, (one of the ways my depression shows itself). I was able to keep moving, resting, feeding, and hydrating my body in most of the other ways and was happy for that. That + practice + reading/listening to podcasts/watching TV + good friends + my tiny family are what keep me going, keep me from giving up.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. A home filled with laughter and love and some plants and lots of books and a couple of dogs was all I ever wanted. Now that I have it, I never want to be without it.

Bonus joy: making art with Janice, roasted vegetables, good TV (I watched the limited series Breath of Fire on HBO this week and it was really good), listening to podcasts, keeping the house cool enough I can still wear a hoodie and socks and cuddle up under a blanket (Eric turns it back up as soon as he gets home), videos from The Dodo, the Merlin app which helped me identify a flock of tiny bushtits this week, soft bread, toast, soup, the sound of the owls in the dark of early morning, seeing one of my favorite yoga teachers out “in the wild,” Bluetooth speakers, texting with Chloe’ and Chris, gummies, clean sheets, my weighted blanket, down pillows and blankets and coats, wool hats and sweaters and socks, ink refills, blank pages and a good pen, that one shade of blue, walking through piles of golden leaves, glue stick and scissors, indoor plumbing, electric cars, other people’s kids and dogs and gardens, kindness, grocery shopping, my infrared heating pad, libraries and librarians and books, poetry and poets, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.