When I get home, I going to swing by Barnes and Noble and buy a book for my mom. I saw several listed in the Mother's Day spread in Entertainment Weekly. They even had a section of books listed for "Mom's who like to read." That's my mom. It's been cold lately but I am sure, when I get home, it will be sunny out, and my mom's flowers will be in full bloom, and there will be just enough of a breeze to waft the pages of our books as we read together. I'm going to bring some of that Darjeeling tea I just discovered. She isn't a huge tea drinker, but this variety is just right. Not too dark with just enough of a fragrance to it. She's going to love it. Getting the tea will be my job and each time I get up to refill our cups, our dog Jules will look up inquisitively, only settling back down when I rejoin the peaceful afternoon with fresh tea and a few cookies to share. I will be in such a good mood, I might even bring him a treat or two. Maggie, our other dog, will be too busy sniffing something in the yard to notice. We will sit there, the two of us, reading our books in silence, simply enjoying each other's company as we spend that lazy, sunny afternoon together.
That's what I wish even though I know it can't happen. It's a dangerous fence to walk--maneuvering between giving agency to those wishes and, on the other side, gritting your teeth, nodding slightly, and moving on with your life. Despite the danger of walking constantly between option A and option B, balancing between the two is, by far, the happiest alternative. Either side, without the other, would diminish in importance on its own. And that's life, reduced to its essence.
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