Your possibilities are so vast.

Infinite.

Endless.

I’ve sat here thinking

for long minutes,

at a loss for where to start,

which is silly, really —

all I have to do is repeat you,

& the thread continues,

unbroken.

You’re a lover,

a joiner,

like your cousin, And.

A little less fluid,

a bit more stilted

& socially awkward, perhaps,

or merely blunt.

But still, you link.

And you open up the world to us.

Long lists or short, you create space for

always

one

more

item.

No limits for you,

resourceful, pragmatic,

Also.

[scs_alt]

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As a child, I just knew that if

our house had an upstairs it

would be better, grander. My

life would be more like the ones

on TV. Later, it was the fancy

wedding that would make

these things true, the elegant

candlesticks and table settings

registered for at the shopping

center. For him, it was golf

clubs in the closet, the sailboat

he never had time to sail, the

vintage Porsche gathering dust

in the carport. In truth, an

upstairs makes it hard to get

around if you hurt your knee.

It turns out that little ranch

homes have their advantages.

[scs_alt]

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As a child, I loved baking with mom.

She taught me how to measure out a cup of flour,

tapping the fluffy pile with the flat back of a dinner knife,

then leveling the top with a satisfying swish.

We’d slice the butter at the designated tick mark,

then beat it to froth with an egg,

tapped carefully against the edge of the mixing bowl.

Measure vanilla & salt away from the bowl,

in case of spills;

mix in all dry ingredients,

drop by teaspoons on the cookie sheet,

greased with the butter wrapper.

Follow the recipe,

all steps in order,

& voilá:

cookies.

[scs_alt]

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If I had known at the time that a divorce,

followed by 20 years of bad decisions,

approximately 8 failed relationships,

and countless disappointing first dates

were the formula to recognizing you,

would I have complained less to my friends,

smiled more,

[better] enjoyed the journey unfolding en route to us?

Probably not.

It may be the very nature of a blessing,

not to be appreciated

until its reach is fully extended

& wrapped around your waiting form.

[scs_alt]

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A pattern requires repetition. Knit one, purl two only becomes a stretchy edging after several rows. And then it’s time to change the pattern — the color of the yarn, the needle size, the stitches — so the sleeve contrasts with the cuff.

Repetition, change, repetition, change. That in itself forms a pattern. Pretty soon you have a sweater, maybe a red cardigan, put on in place of the sportcoat & tie you just removed and hung in the closet.

Did you know that Mr. Rogers weighed exactly 143 pounds every day for 30 years?

[scs_alt]

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