The Slow-Cooked Sentence

kwoh-tid-ee-uhn
adjective

1. Occurring or returning daily
2. Of an everyday character; ordinary; commonplace

It was a rainy morning meant for comfort, for rocking chairs and baths followed by menthol rubs. It was a morning for letting go, so that a mountain of clean clothes rose up from the couch, dirty dishes stacked like stalagmites in the sink, while chicken bones simmered on the stove.

It was an afternoon of sunshine, of snow melting, water running in rivulets down the driveway and into the gutter. The drip, drip, drip beckoned us outside, so despite runny nose and cough, we took off on our daily hike, a wander down city streets, some days here in the neighborhood, other days far from home.

The quotidian nature of the walk disappears with a 2-year-old on my back, and this sleepy suburb trembles with possibilities. Look! A dog barks frantically at the window. Smell! Fumes from a city bus whip around us. Listen! To the promise singing from the ice cream truck outside the school. To each exclamation, I murmur the appropriate response.

Then, I slip.

Boots slide through slush. Feet splay and throw me off balance. The twenty-five pounds on my back shifts too far to the left and I throw out my arms as snow, sidewalk and a pile of steaming, thawing dog shit come racing toward me. In a split second, I will fall or balance will be restored.

Then, our walk continues.

But like my son, I am certain: Today is not commonplace. Today is not routine. Today, I am lucky.