I am gazing out my office window at an azure blue sky, offsetting the snow-encrusted trees blowing in the fierce wind. It is the day after. A foot of snow fell in Connecticut yesterday and transformed the city in a sheet of white. Home-bound with my kids, the day was a throwback to a time when they were young, sitting around doing crafts together. While I made a pot of vegetable barley soup, my 21 year-old daughter made collage cards for her friends, and my 18 year-old drew in his unique style, filling in the black and white images with colored markers. The Beatles, Matt Morris, and Vampire Weekend played on the ipod speakers, the acoustics in the kitchen enhancing the music.
I love days like these, away from the computer, the grind of daily life. There is something so heart-warming about connecting with family, engaging in creative activities, laughing together. Slurping the freshly made soup, sprinkled with cheese, there was a casual flow to the day. My youngest daughter and I walked together in the snow, with the promise of hot chocolate in my warm kitchen as a reward for freezing and lugging a heavy bag a mile uphill. After many weeks of sparse communication, she finally opened up to me. She even friended me on Facebook! We worked on her history paper together, and I was overjoyed to have her full attention, however short lived it might be. After all, she is 15. One cannot predict the behavior of most teenagers from moment to moment. Carpe diem!
Today, all that remains of yesterday are the memories to warm me. My oldest left on a train to Manhattan early this morning, excited to volunteer for fashion week in Bryant Park. My other two kids are still asleep, as the day ticks away and I am itching to get out of the house and take care of my business. The snow glistens on the ground, long shadows falling, outlines of bare trees. What a difference a day makes.
Time is precious. It is a commodity that we can’t replace. I cherish the day I had with my kids. I am grateful for the kind, creative, bright people that they are. As I go about my business today, I can still hear the echo of laughter from the day before. I can smell the faint hint of vegetable soup in the air. And I will remember to appreciate them, whether we are all sitting blissfully in my kitchen, or we are out independently engaged in life. They are what matters most.
