The heat was bad, but it didn’t last.  Like so many things, it was a mixed blessing.  The intense temperatures pushed more buds to open – and it didn’t take long for the flowers to perk back up in the cool nights that followed.  Snapdragons are sending up their spires again, and the Apricotta cosmos are suddenly flush with warm pink blooms.  How can I choose between the delights of lisianthus in their second flush of rosebud blossoms, and the ravishing abundance of asters, widening their infinity of petals at a blush?

Over lunch my friend was telling me that her studio’s building is for sale.  I asked her if she was making plans to find another place ahead of time.  She said, “You know – I have my dream studio there.  I decided just to enjoy it right now, for as long as I can.”

Every day, I ask myself if I can do just that – enjoy this for right now, for as long as I can – in the face of everything that will inevitably change or be lost.  I won’t always have this garden, or these huge windows, or nights that whisk away the too-hot days and reset us all to a more agreeable temper.  Or most importantly the nearest and dearest voices, who know where we all started and how we came to arrive right here.  Can I absorb this ordinary sense of how much good still supports me, even in my aches and pains and quandaries (of which I continue to have an abundance).

So often, the answer our culture offers is to do something about that feeling – keep pushing toward a larger goal – passion or money – as if there must be some point to feeling good beyond the simple experience.  But how much more can there be, truly – than to say we decided to just enjoy things right now, for as long as we can?