Slushy swishy dishwasher I love you. And I love you too smooth seductive shapes of Butternut Squash in the basket on the loin cloth on the kitchen table and I love the tossed apron on the wicker chair. I love the way the dog licks her lips after a taste of Chow Mein, chicken and a million vegetables. I love my son reading the newspaper, the way his hair is flicked back, wet and his eyebrows are like nests that settle on his face and his handsomeness and that's not a word and I love that I'm too lazy to check and see that it is or is not. I love the warmth from the radiator on my back and H's old cardigan that I've thrown on and all the baubles of wool and things that should not be there. I love his smell. I love the way this house is a nest and all in the nest find a place to settle. I love the way the mist rises up over the bog because the day is mild and it's as if the earth speaks in a soft and gentle voice and yet maybe nobody notices but me and that's okay. I love the peace. I love the rows. I love the chaos and the calm. I love the searching and the spoken word. I love the New Year and the sense that anything can happen. I love the producer who calls me and asks me to record my writing. I love the going to the store to buy new school supplies. I love fresh ink in new pens. The swirl of Olive Oil on a hot pan. Towels drying by the fire. Clean windows despite the storms to come. Spices in the cupboard. Pasta on hand. I love people. Nobody knows that. I love everything that cannot be seen. I love this house right this minute. The chime of time. The passing moment. The each and everyone. The all. There this is it. Grasp each little tiny thing and live it because that is all we can have. I love my slippers too. They are above all the most important. If my feet were cold I would not be able to write what I have written. I realise that cold feet get you nowhere.