Apologies in advance for this post. I am not sure it will make perfect sense. Or any sense at all. You see, Baby, our champion sleeper, decided to rise at 4:45am. And since we are all sharing a bedroom, her decision affected us all. So, our Thanksgiving got off to an early start. And coffee can only do so much. My mind is a mess. Mangled from sleeplessness. Tangled from thankfulness.
Thornton Wilder said, "We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." And I like these words. In fact, I love them. Because I've never thought of the heart in this way. I've never imagined it having a consciousness. But maybe it does. Maybe the heart, like the mind, can be aware of things. But I think this awareness would be a bit different, a bit less contrived, a bit less busy. A bit more fluid. A bit more forgiving.
The morning hours were long and meandering. The four of us snuggled and wrestled in bed. We danced around the kitchen. We chased running girls and wiped runny noses. We drank lots and lots of coffee. And then. Husband grabbed his camera and ran outside. To catch the sun as it climbed to its spot. And then he came back. And then we sat in the kitchen. Husband and the girls watched squirrels through the sliding doors. I watched them watch squirrels. And then I took out my camera and snapped away. To capture that moment. That quiet moment when we should have been sleeping. That priceless moment that was so simple and so full.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
Yes, I am tired. Impossibly tired. Oddly though, I am thankful for my fatigue. Because under its spell, my mind isn't operating very well. But my heart is picking up its slack. On this morning, this holiday morning, my heart is doing the work, acutely aware of so many treasures, tiny and titanic.
On this morning, this holiday morning, I feel very alive.