Colors of the Day

Friday evening, I completed a two-month refinancing process, something I'd been dragging my feet on, simply because of the pain-in-the-neck of it, but D. helped me get on it through his gentle prodding. I'll save a lot of money and now have only one monthly payment instead of two.

It's just a few days past six years since I moved into my condo—the time has gone fast. I still can scarcely believe I own my own home. 

Truthfully, it's not only mine but also a living gift from my father in his final, fading years, guided to write a check by my sister, who with her husband made two contributions as well, unbidden. And D.—whom I didn't know when I bought the place but met within months—has also has helped me make it what it is, generously facilitating a kitchen renovation two years ago and celebrating with me every day the things of beauty or usefulness—new, from my family, antiques from strangers' pasts—that have come to fill its spaces.

There's so much I have yet to live into here. I can't make time slow down, but on a quiet Sunday like this, I can look around and appreciate what I have.

We have seen a million stones lying by the water,
You have climbed the hills with me
To the mountain shelter.
Taken off the days, one by one, 
Setting them to breathe in the sun.

—Judy Collins, "Since You've Asked"  

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(Wow, my walls are really not yellow like that!)