EAVESDROPPING IS A REWARDING HOBBY

Wife: No, you do not like cake, remember. You like pie.

Husband: I would like cake on my birthday. Chocolate cake.

Wife: But you always ask for pie on your birthday, that's why I bought this raspberry pie. You don't like cake.

Husband: But I do!

Wife: No--no, you don't!

THESE ARE GIFTS

I put my pen down and turned on my back to look at the heavens--there! in a long streak, a giant fell, pouring himself across a black desert sky; starry sacrifice for my grey eyes.

I wandered restlessly about the sleeping house, finally collapsing under a pool of moonlight that spilled from wide glass onto dusty floor. My fingers traced thoughts of a song on familiar strings.

Sun broke through clouds stronger than Jericho and snow spilled into rising water, splashing over my shoes to fall across the road, stretching her arms to reach the other side. When she touched, my ears feasted on the soulful chime. 

These are moments, these are gifts; when He delights, and my heart is not blind. 

THE HONESTY OF CHILDREN

Henry: Why did you cut your hair off? It used to be so long and beautiful. 

Moriah: I like having short hair.

Henry: But now you look like a boy!

Moriah: Do I look like a boy, Ayla? 

Ayla: Yeah, you're handsome!

BURNT FINGERS, BLIND DATES, AND AN IRISH FARL

Scene 1. Katie, Aunt Joyce, Brianna and Moriah sit around the dining room table, decorating mason jars with lace, ribbons and twine for Katie and Blaine's wedding. Occasionally, burning their fingers on a hot glue gun. 

Brianna: It's okay Katie, we've known each other longer. 

Moriah: Yeah, we used to go on double dates in Grandma's upstairs guest room.

Brianna: Blind double dates.

Moriah: Blind double dates with imaginary men. 

Brianna: And they were always named Marc and Luke.

Moriah: And they were always jerks. 

Brianna: Yes, they were. And we'd get mad and slap them and throw cold water in their faces.

Moriah: And look at us now...

Brianna: Single.

Scene 2. Katie, Aunt Joyce, Blaine, Barrett, Brianna and Moriah sit at a table in the middle of Paddy Ryan's Irish Pub, perusing the menu hungrily. 

Brianna: I am so sick of pizza. I'll meet up with friends in the evening and what's the cheapest for three people? Pizza. Then I go home and what is for lunch? Pizza. 

Aunt Joyce: Sometimes, it's the easiest thing to throw in the oven.

Brianna: And then I will go out with my class and do you know what they order? Pizza! Always pizza. And I'll eat it because it's cheap and I'm hungry, but pizza four times a week is just too--

Waiter: Are you ready to order? 

Brianna: I'll take the Meat Lovers Irish Farl.

Waiter: With red or white sauce?

Brianna: What was that?

Katie: He asked if you wanted red sauce or white sauce.

Brianna: Red please. 

15 minutes later. The waiter serves the plates of steaming food, setting a pizza in front of Brianna. 

Katie: Who ordered pizza?

Brianna: This must be yours Barrett--?

Barrett: No, Mom and I are sharing the Barbeque Pork Boxty.

Everyone is served their food. Brianna stares at her plate unblinkingly. 

Brianna: I thought the Irish farl was a sandwich. It said it was on flatbread...

Brianna's shoulders tremble, tears come down, Moriah meets her eyes and they let out an uproarious laugh. The rest of the table joins them. 

15 minutes later. They are still laughing, all of Brianna's mascara is on her face. 

SMARTER THAN EVERYBODY

Ayla and I sat beside the gas fire, she was on my lap, her owl-print blanket sprawled across us both. Her dark pearly eyes met mine, wide and excited, as her four-year-old voice boasted, "My brother, he's really smart. More smart than everybody in the whole world, because he does math. He's the smartest brother I know. The only person as smart as him is Isabel. She's very smart. They're smarter than everybody, besides from Moms and Dads..." 

Yup. So there you have it folks. 

PINK SCALES AND GOLD-TIPPED WINGS

Three small hands reached for mine, taking turns. Three small girls with dancing feet, led me to our "home" at the end of the hallway where all our dragon treasure was piled to the ceiling. "Come on mama!" their voices chimed, calling me. 

"Can I be a mama dragon too?" asked the blue-eyed child, with brownie crumbs framing her mouth and speckling her polka-dot dress. 

"Nooo, M'riah's the mama dragon," whined the brown-eyed girl.

"Nora, you can be the mama dragon." I laughed, then turned to Ayla, "It's okay, I can be the grandma dragon instead." 

Ayla wasn't pleased, "I don't like this game anymore if you're not the mama dragon." 

"Alright," I said, "I guess Nora and I can both be the mama dragons." 

Nora's face lit up as she wiped at her face with a wrinkled napkin.

"Can I be the big sister dragon?" asked the hazel-eyed child, her blonde curls spilling onto her shoulders. 

"Of course, Hazel." 

"And I'm the baby dragon!" Ayla ran in circles, squealing like a happy bug.

Three small hands reached for mine, taking turns, as I spun them in my own to the end of the hallway.

Then a young boy, nearly as tall as I (but only six-years-old), snatched playfully at my bag. With his brown eyes wide and palms out, he pleaded, "Can I have another mint, please?" 

I reached into my bag and pulled out the little Georgia tin.

"You may. But remember these are magical mints and once you swallow one, you will turn into a dragon," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "and the only way to transform back into a human, is to have another mint." 

"I know." A smile took over his whole face. 

Today, I was a mama dragon with pink scales and gold-tipped wings.

TO BE THANKFUL

What is it? 

What makes the lines at the corners of your eyes curl slightly upward like lashes? What makes you swim in breathless calm? What makes you feel as if you have always existed but just been born? What makes you forget about all the tomorrows and yesterdays and feel perfectly contented here, now? What is it that makes your heart beat like a swarm of wild horses galloping to shake the earth? What is it in this life that speaks to your soul like a poet's tongue?

Four things come to my mind today.

The first is something personal and raw, but something beautiful indeed. 

The second is when I find myself again on 61, driving home with the moon already pulled mid-way across its course, both of us contentedly alone. Then I see her--! my thoughts on their rabbit trails fade to a halt and I can't seem to roll down the windows fast enough: to hear her steady beating against the tracks, her voice calling out, a desperate voice, a purposeful voice, and her heavy lift and fall, racing me, parallel to 61. 

The third. When I wander the crags that follow the shores of Lake Superior, listening to her faithful music, so soothed. There is a dusty, soulful sense of belonging by that sea, as if it's one of God's favorite places too. 

The fourth. When the sun is golden as it falls and its touch feels like a hundred kisses or a crown of wildflowers to braid into my hair when it was long. It is my favorite painting. My favorite artist, right before Monet.

I think I will write out more of these to remember, m