While making jam in the kitchen of our old adobe house this morning, a thought occurred to me: When I am gone, will anyone ever know just how happy I was with my life?
The small things give me joy:
a dog underfoot, following me from room to room
the feeling of my bare feet on the cool tile floors this warm July morning
the smell of the sweet apricots I am cutting up
And then a few deeper thoughts:
the fact that we rescued that little dog, who might otherwise have died alone and unwanted
that we have shelter inside these thick mud walls when so many are homeless and struggling around the world
that we have abundant food, all because we were born in the right place and at the right time
and that we have our health and the ability to find the joy in these small things.
Not such small things, now that I think about it.