Five-minute message

My dear friend, whom I know as well as my own hand, is in love with a man I have never seen.

My two-year old in blue mittens bangs at the front door: "I wanna come in! Mommy! I wanna come in!"

I am baking holiday pumpkin bread for a little girl who found her daddy dead when she walked into the kitchen two mornings ago. She is Merry's age, and her daddy was about Martin's age.

My five-year old mooned her sister and now is out in the snow making ice pies.

I am bent over the kitchen counter, typing, listening to the hum of my computer, the roar of a truck outside, the cries of my two-year old. I smell cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves. My hands are cold, my body warm.

Life is an odd thing, all in all, full of wonders and happinesses and tradgedy, all in the same minute. It's a cliche but it strikes me as new.