Surprisingly lovely, precious days. What is there to say except: Here they are: Sifting through my fingers like sand. (Joyce Carol Oates)
Our neighbor came to our door with a ladder and a pair of needle-nosed pliers. We had a broken bulb in a ceiling light. My husband and I could fix it, but we have physical limitations. The job could take an unreasonable amount of time. Our neighbor came to bring light into our bedroom. He succeeded.
His wife had come earlier to help me with a task difficult for my arthritic fingers. Both husband and wife bring brightness into our home.
Precious moments. Simple, yet savored.
I recall times when friends come and share the difficulties in their lives. I listen. Blessed by more than sun. They trust me. I share my struggles. We recognize strength. Human bonds. Gratitude.
Ugly loses its power when the genuine person inside reaches for precious instead of perfect.
terrypetersen 
I can’t trust myself to stay on the dull side of a sharp object — an empty tin can can cut me like Sheffield steel. I once dropped a glass glass into soapy water and tried to retrieve it in my natural foolhardy way — the shards won the contest hands-down. 🙂
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Thank you once again for reminding me of the internal beauty of fellow humans.
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