Remembering what we have.

Reading a book this morning. Setting is back when my mother would have been a young child, still playing tea party with the tiny China dishes.

The characters went for a car ride in the family's De Soto. It had been idle and limp on the lawn for years and the prodigal son had returned. He rebuilt the engine and whisked his old man away for a Sunday drive with a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. They ate the berries and spit the green tops out the window as they regally drove toward country.

Sublime, they said. This is life, they laughed, as they thought highly of themselves.

Today my fridge is full of berries - red, black, and blue.  We will ride in a car toward town and then back toward country. 

I am making a point to think it sublime.