What Memories Are Made Of...

John posted this on his blog this morning. And I love it. He has such a way with words.

There are moments when everything seems right.

I came home last night to a warm house, in more ways than one. We held hands and voiced a prayer before beginning our meal. We didn't ask for anything, just said "thank You." We all sat at our table for five and ate ham and cheese sandwiches accompanied by cracked salt-n-pepper Boulder chips. Everyone ate what was in front of them. It was almost in the realm of the miraculous. Our youngest said, "Mom, this is a recipie you have to give us when we have our own families." Ham and cheese sandwiches. It is the little things, huh?

We talked about stuff, what the kids had done that day, they asked me about my stuff, we finished off the bag of chips. We talked about some dreams and it was fun dreaming. Somebody said they were going to live in Paris (figures), somebody else is going to live in Indiana since he'll be a professional football player (says they make good money). And the littlest piggie said she was going to live close to mom and dad, visiting quite often, her and her husband and kids and their dog. Maybe she'll bring ham and cheese sandwiches. I hope our dreams come true.

Dinner was ended when the dog threw-up four times. Somebody mightaswell pulled the pin on a grenade. Nothing like a yarking Beagle to hasten the phrase, "You're excused." We got everything cleaned up; actually, "I" cleaned it up. Bravery is called forth in interesting ways in the burbs.

We received Yahtzee for Christmas and so we decided to play a round. Everyone can play, even our five year old. Rolling dice and shouting phrases like "full house" and "large straight" was intoxicating. It made us feel like riverboat gamblers. We played until the scores were to be tallied. I was "off" last night, coming in fourth out of five. My girlfriend said, "That's o.k., baby. I still love you." Words and phrases like that make a man clean up Beagle barf without hesitation.

We listened to some Christmas music while Yahtzee-ing. Somebody asked, "Why are we listening to this?" Somebody else said, "Cause Dad wants to." It was quiet, piano solos, not exactly riverboat music, but it seemed the perfect musical backdrop for our table-round. Interspersed between "three of a kind" and "what's that smell?" were the strains of Silent Night and What Child Is This?

The two logicians in our group tallied their scores and kept playing a personal dice-off of some kind. The remaining three non-logicians, myself included in that number, looked around for some cookies.

We eventually all got up from the gambling table and went to do other things. Putting dishes in the dishwasher, sliding down the stairs in an old sleeping bag; you know, normal riverboat doings. The piano winterlude music ended and that place deep within myself wished it would not. Dear God, can't the music last a little longer? Please? But it did not. The dice were put away and the dancing girls went to bed. One dancing boy too. And a dancing, fully recovered Beagle.

And my girlfriend in her kerchief and I in my cap settled down to read a little. A night like that may not happen again for weeks or months. I pray it doesn't take that long, but I know it might. Such is the life of riverboat gamblers and daughters who want to live in Paris and weak-stomached dogs and non-logicians like me. And the little girl who is going to live close to mom and dad.

There are moments when everything seems right. Carpe momentum. Yahtzee.

**Our 9-year-old daughter specifically asked me to make these sandwiches for dinner. Highly nutritious they are NOT, but they're yummy and my daughter knows how to prepare them and she thinks helping me make dinner is the greatest thing ever. I kinda do too.**