The Lovely Ordinary

Crescent Moon Tonight I made Boozy Baked French Toast, which is not as perilous as it sounds, because the alcohol will bake off in the morning when it is put into the oven.  It has in it Bailey’s Irish Cream and Frangelico, as well as cinnamon.  It is a cool evening for August 1. It has been this way all summer. The nights are as crisp as fall, although the days sometimes warm into the 80s.  Just now there are a few scattered clouds in the west, their edges are turning gold in the setting sun. I think about how this night will never come again; no night will ever be exactly as this. I was reading an entry earlier in The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume Three. The entry was dated October, 30, 1952 and Merton described that day thus: “Yesterday we were raking leaves in the front avenue and burning them—nice quiet work under the sunlit trees. Cars came slowly through the smoke.” His simple description gave me such a sense of that long ago day. It brought back to me the feel of October days and nights, and the people in Merton’s October. I recalled walking out of my high school into an October day that I named “a blue and gold day,” for those were its colors. I still remember the sun streaming down on 24th street and on the people and the buses and the cars and the leaves. We are distracted from the loveliness of ordinary moments. We have been primed to seek “larger than life” moments—but what is larger than life than this? The sun is setting; I have made a breakfast of bread and milk for the morning, my dog is lying by the front door, Geoff is reading on the steps above me, for I am sitting on the stairway in order to be near the west window.  It is quiet. The sky is a rose color.  This is the moment, and it is enough.

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1 thought on “The Lovely Ordinary

  1. I remember the moment, how right it felt. Wanting nothing more. Those are the best moments, the best days.

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