a granary of gratitude

James tells me he DOESN’T WANT eggy bread.  He wants THERUNNYONE instead. I don’t even know what THERUNNYONE is; especially amidst this tantrum of hot tears, and bubbling globules of snot.

I’m asking myself: is this necessary

James wants different eggs. James wants runny eggs. But what sort of runny eggs? Poached, or fried? 

I ask. 

He howls: 


But those are the only RUNNYONES I can think of. 


That last utterance was an aside. Honest.

But by now it doesn’t matter. Reason has been lost in hot-snot-tears. Hot-snot-tears that tell me: Why the fuck don’t you know? What kind of a fucking father are you

He’s truly appalled by the tectonic plates of my ignorance. My slow-moving landmass of dumbness.

Of course by now my mind is a hot mess too - minus the snot (I hope).

So choice makes itself available (thank you, choice) revealing its mindful response. Well, hello. This is the bit I struggle with. Can I stay with this? Can I feel it in the body? Can I? Can I? Not on your life. Bollocks to it. Can I come home to the body? Pull up the anchor? Walk the drawbridge of equanimity? Attend, accept, attune? Isn’t this what you tell people to do?

Attune to what, exactly? 


Okay, let's try that.

I’m grateful you’re upset. Really? Yes, I’m grateful you’re indignant at my inability to relate to THERUNNYONE. I’m grateful you can cry. I’m grateful it’s so effortless: so resistant to uptightness. I'm grateful you can just let go. Grateful it can be cherished, not admonished. I’m grateful you can say cuddle me, when you’re distressed. I’m grateful you have that emotional intelligence. I’m grateful I can probably forgive myself for being so fucking useless in this situation. I’m grateful we’ve got eggs to break and make runny so they can calm, soothe, and placate when they eventually rest on that big old yellow plate that Joyce gave us before she (presumably) died. 

I’m grateful to Keats and the idea he inspires: that we all have a  granary of gratitude. Here. Now. Available. Its beaded bubbles winking at the brim. 

And now it’s all just passed. It’s calm again. You know that calmness? 

Until the next time, that is. 

Then that will pass too. 

And so it goes.

Posted in:


Every month or so I'll send out ideas and resources - what I think might be of interest and use to you, such as links to books, articles, podcasts, quotes, stories, art, music, meditations - that I hope will help inspire you to cultivate your own mindful life.