Last night, I was washing the dishes and for some reason, I started thinking about the movie Groundhog Day. I’d just finished eating a delicious dinner of spicy rice and chicken with avocado, tomato, and green onions, topped with melted mozzarella cheese. I’d shared it with Suzanne, of course, and we’d eaten on the patio, in our rocking chairs, with the sun still shining on us. I think maybe I felt the fog start to come in — that first hint of cool evening air — but something had inspired me to get up and start cleaning. 

I was enjoying the process, though. Warm running water still delights me, even though I’m beginning  to take it for granted. Showering without strategizing is starting to feel normal. (Strategizing: Do I have enough water? Have I heated the water? If I’m showing in a campground, will it be clean? Do I have everything I need? Did I remember flip-flops for the shower floor?) 

But back to yesterday, I’m washing the dishes and thinking about Groundhog Day, and it occurs that me that if I had to be living in Groundhog Day, the day that I was currently experiencing would have been exactly the right day. 

It wasn’t a perfect day. I read too much of the news for that, and I played a little too much solitaire, and I thought about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Thought-About several times. But my day included writing that entertained me (including hitting my 1000 word per day goal, yay!); some texting with friends; a drawing lesson about perspective, and some time spent drawing; a walk with the dogs, some yoga including an actual video lesson; a trip to the cupcake store (masked and socially distanced) to pick up the gluten-free cupcakes I’d ordered last week; two nice meals with Suzanne on the patio; beautiful flowers to admire, some laughter and sunshine, and plenty of gratitude. 

If every day was just like that, I wouldn’t complain. I even flossed my teeth.