And today the sun came out, so I could wash the rest of the tea towels; those that had already been in the laundry hamper when I had to wash the clean drawerful. A couple more favorites came out in this wash, a new bird towel and an old lizard towel, both gifts. I was grateful for a sunny day, my reliable washing machine, a cheerful helper to bring firewood down to the house; making time to exercise, work, and continue the kitchen deep clean; baking bread, visiting with a friend in Canada, and the technology that allowed that connection; for being able to read, and for reading a captivating novel by prolific Australian writer Thomas Keneally called The Dickens Boy, about the life of Charles Dickens’s youngest son as a sheep rancher in Australia.

And I’m grateful for throwing snowballs for Wren, who won’t chase a regular ball but eagerly runs after a snowball. She hasn’t learned to bring it back yet, but she’s getting pretty good at finding and biting it. Maybe this winter I can train her with snowballs, and by summer she’ll fetch a tennis ball. Something to aspire to. I’m grateful for all the minute differences that ornament the blessed sameness of my days.