An Uncomfortable Miracle
Last night Marcel said; “You may find this weird but I know about an uncomfortable miracle we once had.”
“Well, ” I began in my teacher voice, “a miracle is something that…”
“Mom, when a car hit our house two years in a row on the same day, wasn’t that an uncomfortable miracle?”
“Yes. Yes that would describe it well.”
I am sure a poem, an entire book will now need to fall under that title. The more I thought about those two words together, the more everything worth something seemed to fall under that categorization. Co-creating a relatively well functioning family of four is an uncomfortable miracle. Being in a loving relationship is a (sometimes) uncomfortable miracle. Looking for a place to get married, is… well you get the idea.
Here are a few recent and noteworthy shots of miracles large and small, with varying degrees of comfort displayed.
Thanks to the Instrument Exchange Sammy is now the proud caretaker of a gorgeous and (practically new) violin for the next two years. His bow hand is nothing shy of uncomfortable, but his pride and excitement to be like the Black Violins one day is off the charts. The best part of this “exchange” is that no money is exchanged. The organization, brought to my attention by a good friend of Shrek’s, is relatively new, and unbelievably cool. Their premise is that anyone up to age 18 who wants to be able to play an instrument should be able to. To learn more about how to get an instrument in your maestro’s promising digits if you live in Maine (I don’t know if they go beyond the state lines) please check out their website here.
Shrek and I went to visit a very groovy, open, rustic, scenic and semi affordable wedding venue last weekend. One of us thought it was PERFECT, while one of us went into complete panic that this is going to involve an awful lot of organizational skill, not to mention a few winning lottery tickets. The potential is incredible. My potential for panic attacks seems to be rising simultaneously…
I love this picture of Shrek. He loves it of me. (I’m a little unrecognizable to myself here somehow.) We were in our HOTEL ROOM in town. Uncle came up to give us a little pre-birthday present (mine, soon) of twenty-four hours together. We enjoyed it immensely. We had a lovely meal, a stroll, some time in a coffee shop, and a game of racquetball. We were relaxed. We weren’t co-parenting. We weren’t parenting. We were relating. It was a comfortable miracle and then some.