thank you, fireworks.

I always overshoot hope and go 10 steps beyond reality. My dad agrees to try photoshop on a few pictures he took in Carmel. I'm thrilled to see him take positive interest in something. My headspace immediately plans a photo safari in India for us. We excavate our history and exorcise all demons and Bond.

I need to learn to be thankful for the things that are happening.

I want my soul wide open to manna--every moment able to give thanks.

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On the 4th of July, we watch fireworks from the O.B. pier. All the fog makes the sky a whitish-grey so it looks like the fireworks are exploding indoors, right under a high ceiling. Different, but lovely.

At the end of the show, while we're still standing in a happy daze, a small boy pipes out, "thank you very much." After a pause, he reiterates (for clarification), "thank you, fireworks!"

People chuckle, of course, but only after the shuffle of shaking blankets and folding lawn chairs can cover up their laughter. Because he is serious.

(&)

As I was walk the Seal Beach shore, a girl about 7 pops out of the waves, wildly flourishing a glowy bit of green, shouting,"I...Found...Seaweed."

She's in danger of toppling over--not from the surf, but from the Wonder. Seaweed. In the ocean. In her hand. It is too much.

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I want to be like that. I want the capacity for that.