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Saturday Morning

This is how you start the day.

This morning my dad went to Tim Horton's and got me a mocha coffee (just right) a vanilla parfait (bless him, I love fruit beyond all other food) and a lightly glazed cinnamon roll. We took over the TV as we pleased and I subjected him to my favorite Seinfeld episode - the little chilren whom I am related to are still away at camp and therefore aren't around to make any comments or ruin the punch lines with a loud "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, HEATHER? I DON'T GET IT." I loved camp when I was little but I can now see why my parents sent me.

Now I've got my favorite journal set out in front of me, wide open and filling up with thoughts and verses and really thinking about things. Nothing taunts me quite like blank journal pages that I can't fill upon their contact with the air. But the white is disappearing under oodles of beautiful Psalms and verses investigating prayer and whatnot to satisfy my spiritual curiousity, accompanied by gratuitous notes in the margins as I think of them.

This is a fabulous place by the way for this kind of thing. Dozens of languages and translations and fabulous for word searches. God love the internet.

And not only are the pages filling but my soul and ears are being filled with my Frankie. You didn't know I own Frank Sinatra? I don't care if you had first dibs, he's still mine. I caved yesterday and bought 20 of his songs off of iTunes (my dad's eyes bulged the tiniest bit when I told him) but oh, Frankie my Frankie, when songs like "The Tender Trap" and "I've Got You Under My Skin" seep from the speakers in that velvety perfection of male vocals...goosebumps tingles and other such delightful involuntary symptoms. I keep playing the former over and over, wanting to memorize the words...ok, I'm definetely no Sinatra, obviously, but if I can nail these lyrics I can recreate Sinatra any time I want....

I'm sitting here in my Supergirl pj pants, completely content. The little siblings are not quite home yet (dad has gone to get them they should be here any moment) and the house is mine to overrun as I please for a small time, cranking up "I've Got the World On A String" as loud as I please, dancing around the living room as much as I want without a single peanut gallery member present to comment on my inability. Even the humidity that has been haunting Columbus has disapparated and it's blue sky and fluffy white clouds and sunny kind of morning, even if it's past noon.

I haven't showered, I'm not being productive, but I've got Frank Sinatra and am surmounting the challenge of blank journal pages and am wearing my favorite pj pants. It's one of those moments where you could make the mistake that everything is right in the world.

And it's worth making the mistake for an hour on a sunny Saturday morning.

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