I'll just begin by telling you a certain child in my family vomits seven times last night. This is the other child (not the one with the entirely different virus).
I don't actually wake up this morning because I never actually went to bed.
Everyone complains. Everyone feels miserable, and to make matters worse, it's a holiday! We'll miss the bike parade, the hot dogs, the fireworks--everything.
Then I check my email, and a new friend sends me a link to her blog. She's entitled it "Dwell in Possibility." I think about the phrase all morning because it resonates deeply. I've heard the phrase before--from some distant place--that recalls a beautiful hoping in me.
Then I remember. It's from Emily Dickinson. I love Emily Dickinson.
I dwell in Possibility --
A fairer House than Prose --
More numerous of Windows --
Superior -- for Doors --
Of Chambers as the Cedars --
Impregnable of Eye --
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky --
Of Visitors -- the fairest --
For Occupation -- This --
The spreading wide of narrow Hands
To gather Paradise --
I read the poem again and again. Today, I choose to gather Paradise.
Journal: What are the possibilities of this day? Who could even name them all?