and windows that won’t budge
For missed dinner
and all the bread and brownies over the years
to celebrate the day, our lives or
staying in to celebrate what we miss most
For orange and pink sunrises
like pumpkins in tutus
For days when I wish I had a camera in hand
knowing that the memory will soften and slip like the pink from the sky
These women. Each one. You can’t speak just words about them, or I can’t find words to explain. But come and sit. Wedge yourself close in on the couch. There will probably be a little one or a pet climbing in your lap as soon as you have folded yourself at the knees and hips. We will be dressed in our work clothes, or work pants and a t-shirt, shoes off. If we try to warm up the bread, some of it will burn because of the distraction of listening and leaning in close to the lives around us.
This past Friday night was a doozy for us all. Let me put it this way, we skipped salad. And vegetables. Completely. At our veggie loving friend’s house. And she was the one to make the call.
There was bread. Bread to break and share and to nourish us. This is not lost on me. For when we are wrong, or wronged and we long for healing, we reach for Bread.
For these girls, these women, I give thanks. They are arms tight around you before and after you knew you needed it. They are the care and concern that waits until you start your car in the dark parking lot before they pull out of their space. Cookies at Christmas and so many chicken nuggets and frozen waffles. Pacifier give away parties and happy potty dances. Whispers in your ear and through a text saying you will be ok, and I will be there to make sure of it. Prayers at all hours and brownies late into the night. Peach blankets and fuzzy socks. Crazy car rides or road trips to out of the way towns. Sweet birthday wishes blowing on candles and long, long ugly cries into already wet shoulders. Sparkling like diamonds and little dirty fingers smoothing down your hair. They are a wonder each one.