I'm enjoying a glass of Shelton Cabernet Franc and thinking about how the world is spinning faster than I'm used to. I feel like there's no safety net and no straps to hold me in and I wonder if we all feel that way right now.
The wine slides down like I'm wrapping myself in a claret, velvet cape. My lips giggle with anticipation as each swallow glides easily past the taste buds that feel they're denied a longer embrace with the aged liquid.
Sure, the lasagna that I created tonight was a crowd-pleaser. And half of the concoction is hibernating in my freezer until the next meal calls. But it's the dance with the glass I need tonight as I hold on to what hasn't changed in the face of events that define why we wish Monday's could simply slide off the calender to be left behind forever.
I'm remembering the soothing vibration of a deep yoga breath I called forth to ease my fears, earlier today. Quelling my panic until I could measure my day against my health, my happiness, and the warmth of my bed in the morning light.
Then, as I wallowed in my own fear I recall my chance encounter with the faces and stories of women I found online. Powerful ladies who have the strength to smile through their cancer while I cling desperately to the purple glow on the skiff of snow that blankets the lawn outside my March window knowing that I must stop crying without reason for a future yet unknown.
My glass is almost empty and like the end of a visit with a friend, you realize that you feel better already and what you're worried about isn't that bad. That there are people around that still need you to be whole, and they're waiting for you to heal them when their world is rocked.
I think I'll pour another, and fill the sink with sudsy, white clouds to immerse the remnants of meat and cheese. I'll sip awhile longer and ride the ride I'm on today. Spinning as it may, in ever increasing revolutions, my world, my present moment, is still the only way to experience the life I have been given. And I'll enjoy it because I own it and it goes so well with the wine, and the sunrise that I know tomorrow will bring.