I awoke today before dawn. Got up and immediately took alarm at the martini glass left empty in the sink. Until I remembered the amusement I had found last night in drinking my lemonade from it right before bed.
Since it was still so early, I had no real inclination to actual get up...so I returned to bed and just sort of stared out the window. Something felt different. I couldn't describe it...but it felt familiar.
2008 has been the hardest year of my life. But also, the most amazing. And as I sat there, staring out into the lightening parking lot, at the same trees and cars I've been staring at for 3 years...I felt it. Comfort.
I noticed a forgotten Zine sitting on my bedside table, from a beloved "Tinytown" resident, dedicated specifically to our tiny town, for and about its residents. An hour later, I had traveled back across these past few years in this crazy town, with its often infuriating, yet ever more so endearing, quirks and antics. I shot back to evenings spent on the back "porch" of the pub, sitting by the river at spring's first warmth sipping beers and watching the barges float by. Sledding down the back hill of the mansion during blizzards with a bon fire burning below. Weekends spent bbqing in the snow to celebrate football playoffs. Running out to the river at first light with a boy I was completely enamoured with to watch the ice crack after an all-night bender.
It's these moments that keep this town's residents tied to its limits. These patches of sunshine that, upon reflection, occur more often than not. I am urged to walk into town today for more than excercise. Instead, to reach out and find yet another patch of sunlight.
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