a dear friend of mine was stranded at the airport yesterday and is crashing on my couch until she can resolve her travel dilemmas. yesterday was the first time she had ever been to my house. she had never seen my beautiful sunshiny kitchen, my spare but homey living room, my warm, sand-colored walls.
my roommates had made lemon sangria blanco (a friend informs me that clarico is the argentinian term for sangria made with white wine, which i think is lovely: clarico de limón). we feasted on cheese and crackers and kettle chips and annie’s bunny grahams (which i insist on calling “honey bunnies”), and drank ourselves silly.
my guest was overjoyed. “your life is amazing,” she told me. “this is paradise.”
she caught us at a particularly good time; we don’t make fancy drinks with limoncello every night. but i am completely, breathtakingly humbled by how fortunate my life is.
my heart races when i think about how pretty my home is, how challenging and rewarding my job is, how filled with love my life is. my family and friends are healthy and happy and extraordinarily supportive. i have enough money. i have my health.
really. what else do i need?