Welcome Morning

When I am deeply distressed, mourning, or upset, I tend to take greater notice of mundane details. The texture of a chair, the smell of a room or the shape of a table leg. I’m not mourning but I’m empathetic to a fault at times. I’ve been following the Storm Sandy news really closely. I can almost imagine myself there. Having to leave my home, knowing the rushing water will wash it away. Hearing about a neighbor or friend-of-a-friend who was hurt or killed. Trying to calm my family and my own heart. Grief, pain and fear. I’ve been praying for those who are living out the worst of this storm. Even though I am over 2,000 miles away, I’m absurdly confident is God’s ability to traverse that distance pretty quickly.

I slept poorly, knowing thousands of others were probably not sleeping well either. Being in this frame of mind allows me to see those life-details that are so easy to miss. And in turn, I am feeling appreciative of the texture, smell and look of my life. Simple.

Mornings. Coffee. Water. Laundry. Light. Pillows. Clouds. Drawers. Bread. Walks.
I walked into our bedroom and saw Gideon, sprawled out, not a single burden to carry. I thought of this poem. A perfect reflection of my mood.

Welcome Morning, by Anne Sexton

There is joy in all

in the hair I brush

each morning.

In the cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with

each morning.

In the chapel of eggs I cook

each morning.

In the outcry from the kettle that heats my coffee

each morning.

In the spoon and chair that cry “Hello there Anne”

each morning.

In the god head of the table I set my silver, plate, cup upon

each morning.


All this God, right here in my pea-green house

each morning.

And I mean, though often forget,

to give thanks.

To faint down by the kitchen table

in a prayer of rejoicing

as the holy birds at the kitchen window

peck into their marriage of seeds.


So while I think of it

let me paint a thank-you on my palm

for this God, this laughter of the morning,

lest it go unspoken,

The joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard, dies young.


I’m married to a 30 year old.

There are four things that the Krueger family (my husband, dog, hens and I) don’t mess around with. Firstly, Halloween. We (I and therefore everyone) love it. See below:

Secondly, lounging. We know how to be lazy. I think we should get paid for it. Ironically I don’t have a picture.

Thirdly, eating. We love food. All of us. While my chickens prefer dried meal worms and Gideon prefers rawhide, Matt and I prefer just about everything besides those things.

So if you ask what we did for my Hubby’s 30th birthday this weekend…I would say, “We ate food.” No really. That’s all we did. We ate at Roakes, a local greasy dive hamburger stand (they make a killer veggie burger). We also had a huge taco dinner with Matt’s side of the family. Matt has an identical twin that, obviously enough, also had a birthday to celebrate. Then I delivered a huge bag of junk food and balloons (not edible) to the high school where Matt works. THEN Matt woke up to this:

So after pointing out the typos I made, which consist of putting “fruit” and “berries” as toppings (I clarified that there are fruits that are not berries) and forgetting hash browns as a side (even though he didn’t want them anyway) it was concluded that we would be having approximately one ton of waffles with homemade whipped cream and strawberries.

Really, the hour I spent making the menu was just for fun. I knew he was going to pick this. He does for every single birthday. In fact, he does for every special occasion. Or for Saturdays. Or for the days when it’s his turn to make dinner. Or when I ask him what he wants to eat.

And fourthly, we love each other fiercely. We would each do anything to make the other feel special. Regardless the frequency of this meal, Matt wanted it. He’s the one getting old. And loving each other is something we don’t mess around with. So if waffles are going to make him feel loved…waffles for life, baby.


Four years and counting.

Mmhhmmm…how to celebrate four years of marriage? I know. With trees, caprese sandwiches, sparkling river water, laughter, swimming, goat cheese, a corgi, sun basked naps, good talks, long drives and ice cream.

It’s interesting how our idea of celebrating our life together means we leave behind our home, the place where we spend all our time, and head out somewhere that is beautiful, but has no personal significance whatsoever. The property, the house, the stuff inside the house, what does it matter in the light of eternity? Our love and commitment go far beyond those things. Some day the stuff will all fade away. It feels really good to get away and be reminded of that.