Message from the universe: carpe diem

The family at the farmhouse circa 1979.

On this gorgeous Sunday morning, I'm sitting in my living room listening to James Taylor's "Sweet Baby James" album on the turntable and drinking coffee. Just like that, without any real intention or contemplation, I am transported back 32 years to a Roanoke farmhouse in fall 1980. My sister Julie sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, playing Yahtzee, smoking a cigarette and singing along in her beautiful soprano voice. Her cats Pooty and White Kitty sit on the table watching the dice roll. My brother-in-law Mike plays along on the piano, picking his way through the notes, pausing to sip his own coffee and take a drag from his cigarette.
I was 16 then, a junior in high school, and had just moved out to Roanoke to live with Julie and Mike and go to school at Northwest High School. My bedroom was upstairs in the little farmhouse, and I'd wake on weekend mornings to music filtering up the narrow stairwell to me in my double bed with the antique headboard. I could hear the rattle of dice in Julie's Yahtzee cup and knew she was playing a solo game while Mike sat at the piano. When a cold front passed through, my room was cozy warm, the blue flame of the Deerborn heater doing its job. The bed felt so nice, but I was eager to get up and go downstairs. I was already in love with the Sunday morning tradition of coffee and music that I would carry with me all the days of my life.
This past week, I've been getting a message from the universe. It took a few days for the message to get through, because I'm a stubborn, complex individual. My own convoluted thoughts often cloud the simple truths of my world, and that is quite frustrating. I wish I could be like my husband Chuck, who tells me, "Just stop thinking. When I worry about things, I just tell myself not to." He is an inspiration to me, because I believe his ability to control his own mind and emotions in that way perfectly offsets my inability to calm wayward thoughts. It's like a gravitational pull, with me ending up somewhere in the much healthier middle between both of our extremes. And in those times when he really needs to think about things, and not just put them out of his mind, I believe my own influence, on the other side of the spectrum, pulls him in to his own healthy middle. It's a nice balance, this marriage of ours. It works for us.
So I've been getting this message from the universe, or God as it may be (they're one and the same to me, you see). The message is this:
Embrace the now, be grateful for what you have in this very moment, not looking at tomorrow or yesterday. Find the beauty and wonder in every experience, small or large, and rejoice in it.
It's a challenge to me, which is awesome, because I respond very well to personal challenges. Thus far, I have not been completely successful yet at embracing this challenge, but I'm trying. I have to keep reminding myself to focus on the message instead of the - excuse my French - bullshit.
And that's what I'm doing now.
My morning did not go well, for a variety of reasons. I woke up early to the dogs barking. I never went back to sleep - because they just kept barking. I didn't feel well. The 5K I ran yesterday must have stirred up some poison in my system, because now I have a headache and deep gravelly cough. My irritation level was high and my mind went crazy. I finally just got out of bed and made some coffee. And since it's Sunday morning, I decided to put on some music too.

Seizing the day.

Memories can be good or bad, depending on the situation. Looking back at "yesterday" and feeling regret or hurt or anger is not good for me. And it's definitely a stark contrast to my message from the universe. But remembering sweet moments from the past that make me feel good, that make me realize that I'm actually living the same moments right now, right this minute, is very, very good.
Chuck has pulled his LPs out of the garage, and we're now listening to Carole King's "Tapestry." I'm singing along with a full cup of coffee by my side, my cat Hobbes sprawled across the carpet in the middle of the album stacks. Chuck is immersed in his own love of music, and I am writing. We are making new memories. My morning has greatly improved.
Carpe diem. Message received.