On waking up in the morning:
Every day, before sunrise and without fail, the cat appears next to my head to snuffle and paw her way under the covers. Once she emerges at the foot of the bed, my husband gets up to close the bedroom door leaving her on the other side to chirrup at regular intervals in an attempt to get fed.
I put my pillow over my head.
NPR clicks on and is promptly snooze-buttoned until the faint morning light makes itself visible. My husband gives in and gets up to feed the vocalizing cat. Several snooze buttons later, his movements downstairs signal that it's time for me to get out of bed as well. For a couple committed to reducing our environmental impact, our roles are clear: he handles the morning cat routine and I drive him to work in our shared car still in my pajamas, without coffee and without complaint.
On kindness:
Kindness isn't random. It's built-in mostly, though it can be learned as well. It's in the way you meet someone's eyes, or the tone of your voice when making a request.
People I consider to be kind listen attentively to the often-repeated stories told by the elderly or allow young children to direct them in imaginative play. Suffering halitosis for the sake of someone else's pride is another sure sign.
When it comes down to it, there are those who consider others and those who don't. What kind are you?
On collecting:
The thing is to remain lightweight. That's the guiding principle behind wilderness backpacking and traveling in foreign countries. Carry too much and your heart will begin to beat faster from the effort required. Leave most of it behind and your heart will be lighter with the freed-up space.
What would those who amass piles upon piles of possessions do when faced with fire or flood? Could they flee their homes in an instant, unburdened like me by worldly goods, to save their own skins? Or would they cleave to the spot, unwilling to part with a lifetime of collectings, and await the ruin?
