I stepped in the cat's auxiliary water dish.
In my apartment, its presence is one of the ways you know that it's summer. The air conditioner won't get dragged out until the next time I have friends over.
I gave the cat a deep tissue fur massage while she purred on my abs. She shifted to tuck her little feet against my hip.
After years of eschewing them almost constantly in Gchat messages and Facebook statuses, I have realized that I love capital letters again.
I put sunscreen on for a cloudy rain, and then the sun came out. On my way out, I ran into my downstairs neighbor by the flagstoned nook that holds the trash cans and chatted - she said she'd let me go "because we'll stand here talking all day." (She's right.)
Outside the library, I realized that I was running in place in salsa steps.
Norwegian black metal is fitting for a grey day run. The sun peeked out. Should I switch to Letters to Cleo or something to encourage it?
It's amazing what a shower, a pretty dress, and a little makeup does for a grey mood.
Realization during a lovely reunion with a high school friend: things happen at their own time, and you are who you are because of them.
Sometimes things happen when they need to.
I snagged two framed Van Gogh prints on my block from the detritus of one of the billion stoop sales today. I asked how much they were, and the dude said that anyone who could carry them could have them for free. I staggered along with one under each arm, and nobody laughed. When I got to my building, my neighbor leaped up from his spot on the stairs to open up for me.
On my run home from kickboxing, I passed a fuzzy dachshund trying to bring its owners into the pet stuff store.
Denizens of my neighborhood are not shying away from the heat, and they are scantily clad. (I passed a small child holding up her dress to show her undies.)
Sometimes the small moments are the most important ones to notice.
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