I like life. I had beers while moving all of the storage unit items from the garage to the basement and bonus room above the garage. I’ve never had a garage. Not one of my own. It’s going to snow tomorrow and I think my truck wants to be inside. I’m not positive because the truck doesn’t actually speak, or think, but I do think it’s possible it would rather be inside.
I enjoyed standing in our garage while listening to the plow truck last night. I think he was drinking beer too. Now though, this very moment, I’m sitting in my office looking out of the window at a very grey-dusty looking morning sky. The storm has yet to start. I still don’t know what the plow truck was plowing.
My coffee is hot and smells exactly how I had hoped it would. All I will do now is finish typing these last few words and settle into the rest of something.
I’ve watched restrictions of success cripple people. And couples. Standards ripped them apart. They are left with .5 children and 50% parenting access. All for the glass ceiling. I hope to never forget it’s the simple things that matter most. Being there to see Gavin sit on Megan’s lap while watching a movie. Getting up early to make coffee. Waiting to hear my two hearts come down stairs. “Daddy!” His feet patter at me.
“Morning, Honey.” Her long dark hair is a ruffled mess and it’s incredibly attractive.
It’s the simple things. It really doesn’t take much to make me happy. It never has.
I want to write a story. A good story. Instead I’m writing this and putting the writing of the good story off until this is done. Whatever this is.
It’s my coffee mugs fault. I almost didn’t use it.
I opened the cupboard, looked at my favorite coffee mug, and the battle began. Use it, or save it for tomorrow? The dishwasher is empty. No chance it’ll be full enough to start. Then again I could wash it by hand. I wash dishes all the time.
I stood looking at the mug. I didn’t expect to see it. I don’t know why not.
It’s blue and white. It’s a winter scene mug. There’s a male snowman and female snow lady holding snow arms with white snow flakes decorated above them.
I love this mug. Hell with it. I’m using it this morning and I’ll write about.
We should use our favorite mug.
Sent from my iPhone
I’m even going to leave that. I’m literally writing this with my thumbs, leaning on the counter, drinking my coffee.
‘I decided that I would write one story about each thing that I knew about.’ -Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast.
I sit with strong coffee and read his words. His words are so well used they live within me directly after having met them. I once wrote ‘You can’t rewrite Hemingway’ and feel this to be severely true and that no one person should even try. However, if one sits and writes about what they know and their voice is their own and is strong they’ve done it. Each experience is unique. A trip to get milk, written well, can be the best story to write and to read. And If I take Hemingway’s advice I’ll have enough to write about for the entirety of my life. In fact, I’ll not be able to finish.
Have a good day. I hope there will be wine and laughter. I hope you smile and are smiled upon. I hope we all do not take for granted today.