more than breathing

I dropped off my Jeep at the mechanic this morning. The mechanic greeted me with such a sunny demeanor I told him "You have an amazingly positive attitude for such an early hour." He smiled and replied, "I figure if I wake up and I'm breathing it's a good day!" I like that, a lot.



I love my new house. I have just enough here. Just enough storage space. Just enough room to fit my furniture (and not an inch more). And yet more. More trees to blow in the wind at night in front of my porch. More dark outside my window and less street lights. More quiet and more birds chirping. More peace.



Comcast won't arrive to hook up the cable for a week. So, I imagine I'll play lots of Tetris, Packman and Mario Brothers. Lots of piano. Spend way too much time on the Internet (god bless the neighbors with an open connection). And maybe even study.



A lot of my memories of Portland as a child consist of day care walks. I went to a daycare in Sellwood, down the street, actually. And so, for the longest time, I thought that Sellwood had abnormally high sidewalks. And then I realized how short I was when I lived here. At night when I walk my dog down new streets, everything feels eerily familiar and I know perhaps, about 20 years ago, I've walked these streets before.



A strange thing has happened this week. Alone, I have caught my default facial expression changing. Suddenly, I find myself smiling.