Thunderstorms. The ones where the air is crispy yet alive with sweet scents of nature.
Ty’s constant nagging about this thing that’s bugging him or that thing his sister did that pissed him off. The way his mind wanders and his smile brightens the whole house when he finds the humor in it all.
Aryn’s love of books and her sweet disposition. The way she crawls into bed to snuggle and doesn’t care that she may be too old to do that anymore.
Ethan’s zest for life that others mistake for misbehavior. Especially his laugh – oh so contagious. And his bright blue eyes that seem to dig so deep into the mysteries of life. The way he tells me about his dreams that make absolutely no sense but sound as true as rain.
Zoe’s attitude – “Talk to the hand!” She’s a firecracker set to pop and smokin’. Yet the gentle way she lays her head on my chest and tells me to shave my pricklies.
My wife’s banter. I won’t have to tune her out and try to work (or play) around her attempts to tell me the minutia of her day. Sorting through the distractions for the nugget upon which to tightly cling and cherish.
Doing the Jimi Thing with Dave and fighting demons with Mike Portnoy and John Petrucci.
Reading to pass the time on break or before bed when the house is quiet and I should be sleeping. Piscine Molitor Patel.
Drinking warm coffee with milk and sugar, watching the steam mingle with the smoke from Joe Camel.
Breathing in while closing my eyes, just to clear my head or rearrange the furniture.