every week

The parts that happen over and over again I really start to relish. I plan ahead all week to Friday after work, with a list in my pocket and a pile of canvas bags on my passenger seat. I listen to the week's Pop Culture Happy Hour podcast in the car on the way to the food co-op for the first half of the list, and the bigger store a block from home for the rest. I take a heady amount of satisfaction in my ability to stock the kitchen with the right amounts of things, to not forget the foods I know S wants, to always have a spare bottle of dish soap when the one on the sink runs out. I have this part of growing up under control. I carry all the bags into the apartment in one trip even if it's impractical and I unpack and sit at the table sipping kombucha as the podcast winds down. It always ends with the what's-making-us-happy segment and I fit right in.
Saturday morning is another one. S leaves for work at 7:30 and I'm up, too, sipping the coffee he made for me and eating eggs wrapped in a tortilla with almost-too-much hot sauce. This morning, as it has been for a few weeks now, I'm reading a charming Debora Geary book thanks to my sister's generous kindle, and listening to Delta Rae (you wouldn't regret it if you bought their album, or borrowed it from me).
I've always been someone who relishes in the little, the present, the simple. I am capable of flash and exuberance and on the good days, adventures, but my default way to find joy is in a gentle-ish routine and a piling up of the little satisfactions and the little victories into a sweet stew of whole souls and deep breaths.