68. The smooth gliding geese float on chinook winds under sunset clouds.
69. The sidewalk and street were smooth and cleared of snow, thanks to the neighbour and the city plow.
70. B's wrinkled shirt emerged from the washer, covered in small, clingy shreds of paper: the remains of a store receipt left in a pocket. It clung to the dark blue plaid flannel like velcro. The gift today? He asked my help. I gave it willingly, used the lint roller to pick off the unwelcome confetti. A team effort. Time together, doing the work of the marriage.
71. The telescope I bought him for Christmas unfolded nicely out of the box. The instructions were tiny but adequate. I assembled. He disposed of the cardboard and plastic wrapping.
72. Bonus: the gift of motivation. B insisted we finish packing away Christmas decor. We worked together. He did the heavy lifting and vacuumed.
73. Reminders all around today that love always triumphs.
Joy Dare: Can you name 1,000 gifts?
This is "a dare to live fully right where you are."
I started naming them right here.
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