Simple is as Simple Does

Michigan is crisp this morning. The leaves are markedly burnt orange, brick red, and goldenrod, and the sky is a watery cornflower blue that hugs the curve of the world. It’s like God only used these 4 crayons to color the fall skyline today.


The frosted tips of the crunchy grass look like snow in the 7 a.m. light. It’s not cold enough yet for gloves; just for pulling your fingers back into your sleeves. I am sitting on my porch watching my boys wait for the bus. Their voices shoot around the yard without the sound dampening benefit of full-bloom trees and bushes.

My hot, not-too-sweet coffee and 7 grain toast (all health benefits negated by the pools of butter melted on top) keep me company. The dog lays next to me with one eye on the boys and one eye on my breakfast. She knows if she doesn’t get too fresh, I’ll flip her a piece of crust.

As the cold leeches from the porch into the seat of my pajamas, I am struck by the “ordinariness” of this little tableau. It’s the kind of scene you hope you will have as an adult. Your adult self is “master” of all that you survey. It’s a bitter-sweet picture, you now know, that’s as simple and as complicated as every little microscopic level of real “adult” life.

I can hear the bus rumbling a block away. The boys don’t notice or don’t care, and they continue their game of “monster freeze-tag” (in keeping with the season, of course). They won’t remember this morning when they are 38 and 40, but I know that when I am 67 I will have memorized this morning as one of the loveliest and most prized snap shots of our lives. As the bus roars away, on every macro and microscopic level of real “adult” life, I know that I am blessed.