it's the utterly normal things i live for. like making a grocery list. like my husband's sweater draped over the chair. like the jingle of his keys in the door. like hanging laundry to dry. like mailing a birthday card. like the crack of a pepper mill. like picking out stamps and changing the water in the vase and re-filling a sippy cup. like the first minutes after my baby wakes, when he journeys to the window, tugs at the shutters, and stands awash in holy columns of light, just to see what's there. it's the utterly normal things i bow down to.