Good and pleasant

Here's what was running through my mind about eight o'clock this evening:

How good and pleasant it is when there is no choir on Wednesday night, and instead of going to rehearsal, I get to sit outside on the sidewalk at a local restaurant and have dinner with two of my favorite people--my kids. Not that there's anything wrong with choir. An hour or two of singing will remedy almost anything for me. But the outdoor table, the summer evening, an hour to relax and be and eat and sit inside a quarter century of family love—that is life, good and pleasant.

Let's try another one. How good and pleasant it is ... when the internet goes down at work, and there's nothing you can do about it. That's what happened this afternoon--a side-effect of installing a new firewall. Eventually I went home to a working wi-fi network, but it is a blessing suddenly to have no reason not to linger over a conversation, not to take time to talk about the bumps in the road, and not neglect the tales of rough places made plain either.

How good and pleasant this evening continues to be. The smell of weed wafts over from the neighbor's deck, two backyards away, but it's 2017, nothin to see there. How pleasant that I'm not the only one sitting outside thoroughly enjoying the soft June air.

How good and pleasant it was to read Kris's blog from yesterday--about summers gone by in all their active glory, about peace for him, with his beautiful Michelle, at the close of each day of this simpler summer.

How good and pleasant it is to remember to breathe while typing, to drink the last drops of decaf,  cold in the bottom of the cup. To wear a sweater that suits the weather--and oh! to look over your shoulder and glimpse the full moon through the grape leaves tumbling off the arbor.

How good it is to know that at 10:35 tonight I'll have Stephen Colbert on the Late Show to help me laugh at the crap news in my Twitter feed today. How pleasant, as I watch, to be knitting with yarn that's half merino, half llama. Bouncy and silky smooth, all in a glorious green.

Plenty of irritations will be back tomorrow, or maybe even as soon as I click Publish, and close the laptop. But for now--may it be good and pleasant with you, too. Good night.