Today

The heat of the day is wearing thin and the sun is going down.  I have soft music on and fresh coffee at hand.  There is a lot on my mind, a portion of which is sad to the point of heartbreaking and frustrating to the point of rage.  Indulging in a healthy bout of self-pity is always gratifying ... for a little while.  Watching the evening breeze move through my trees out back, another sequence of images moves through my mind.  An old friend is struggling with the discovery of an insidious little mass that will change her life.  Others have lost their homes, jobs, long-term security.  A precious few have lost parents, brothers, spouses ... children.  Loved ones who struggle with burdens I cannot help them bear.  Friendships disintegrated, fellowships foundered and all economic signs point to ever increasing hardship.  It's exhausting and really quite soul-crushing if you think about it.

With Celtic music playing counterpoint to the songs of the birds outside I look just across the room.  Humming along with the music is my little piece of immortality.  In her denim skirt, pink headband and mirrored shades she sits on a bench.  Feet swinging, she is the picture of industry as she builds a small empire out of Play-Doh, attended by her toy dinosaurs.  She is perfectly content to be right in this moment, in her home with her family.  There is no heartache for her that cannot be cured with some affection, or perhaps something sweet.  There is no worry that cannot be soothed with a handhold or hug.  The emotional tribulations that swirl in tangible streams in and around the house move over her, leaving her untouched and secure in the knowledge that she is loved and safe, her life is today and today is good.

Turns out that she's right - today is good.  Today there was sunshine and breezes to help cull the heat.  Today there was good music on the radio, and better friends to catch up with over lunch.  Today there is a roof over my head, and a job I still love.  Today my friends are here, or they are healing.  Today there were stupid dogs who raided an empty garbage can, and not-so-stupid cats who hogged the bed with their whole five pound selves.  Today there is a vibrant yellow dandelion behind my ear, picked by my child who thinks it's as beautiful as I am to him.  Today there is the scent of grass, crushed by sneakers worn by laughing children running through the yard.  Today there is a full pot on the stove, with a meal I can afford to feed my family.

As Today goes to its rest, the eternal mantra of "this too shall pass" whispers through the pines out back - for both the good days and the bad.  In order to miss something, you have to have noticed it was there in the first place.

Today is good.

Tomorrow will be here when it gets here.

"If I should have a daughter -"

This is the transcript of the spoken word poem by Sarah Kay. 

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B, because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.

And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands, so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."

And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.

"And, baby," I'll tell her, don't keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I've done it a million times. You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him." But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.

Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix. But that's what the rain boots are for. Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me. That there'll be days like this. ♫ There'll be days like this, my momma said. ♫

When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's swept away.

You will put the wind in windsome, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more." Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you've done something wrong. But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.

And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat ...

you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.