Warning: Low-vitriol, irony-free content

The view from upstairs, 3:30 pm
Gotta tell you what occurred to me at about 12:45 today. At about that time, I sat outside at the picnic table on the deck, Kid on my left, Boy on my right. We all ate grilled cheese sandwiches, applesauce and lemonade. White Dog was keeping a respectful distance, but clearly hoping for a luscious morsel; Black Dog was all the way up the mountain, looking for deer to scare. We were all barefoot, enjoying the seventy-degree sunlight, watching as the snow melted into fast-running rivulets emptying into the driveway. I was a little tired, but only because I'd stayed up late making art for a paying client.

Life remains hard. Daylight Savings has somehow wrecked Cameron's internal clock; She can't get an interview close to home; I can't get enough freelance work to stay afloat. However, as you might have guessed by now, what occurred to me at 12:45 was this: at that moment, I was the luckiest man any of you knows.

Sorry, but that's all. At least my next story will have broken glass in it.