Sharpie

Minutes ago, I woke up from a nap feeling calm and happy. The landscape of my world was clear and open. How bizarre and unusual to feel good in every way.

It seemed like a good moment to start writing, knowing that writing, along with most creative acts, rarely starts in a perfect moment. I want to write every day, but will I? For now, I am thankful. And like my daughters this morning, I am pleased by something simple: this particular blogging tool. I opened it on a whim, and it was clean and uncluttered. So here I am.

Four-year-old says to her sister, “I love the smell of these markers. Smell it.”

I look up, expecting to see those nasty fragranced markers.

Eleven-year-old declines. “That’s a Sharpie.”

The child who appreciates fine things says, “Oh, I know. I love it.”

In a box of washable markers with diluted pigments, she knows which one will make a strong, reliable mark.