The Countdown

I have determined to pay attention to every possible minute.  The daughter is upstairs getting ready to go kayaking with her boyfriend's family.  Next Saturday, to my beloved's horror, she and I will get matching tattoos.  Who knows what will happen this week of all weeks, and next week of all weeks.  Then the drive.  The countdown continues.

The countdown continues.

Counting

May be the most human thing

We do:

Days

Hours

Minutes

The number of times

We said

Or even thought

I love you;

The number

Of joint pedicures;

The trading back and forth

Of whose choice

To pick where lunch

Will be consumed

No, after you,

No

After You.

The winning

The losing

The realization that nothing

Is ever really lost

In the whole scheme

Of things.

The countdown continues.

The Days

The Hours

Even

The Minutes.

Pedicure

In my tradition, footwashing is part of the Maundy Thursday ritual.  I*m sure the number of pedicures rises during Holy Week.  With the warmer weather and in celebration of her upcoming birthday, my daughter and I got pedicures.  I usually choose pale pink nail polish.  On a whim, I chose red this year.  A day later I remember it is Pentecost this Sunday.

I didn*t get the standard pedicure

For Maundy Thursday.

Instead I met with a client

Under the footwashing space.

Today is my daughter*s birthday

We each got a pedicure

Yesterday,

Complete with salt scrub.

I chose red nail polish.

I*m sure it has a fancy dancy name.

I didn*t look.

Sitting with a client today

I told him

God is always speaking,

Sometimes we hear.

After he left I noticed my toes

Painted red

For Pentecost.

Sometimes realization

Takes its own sweet time.