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Paperwork: About that moment each morning as you open the curtains to a new day · Illinois Valley - Shaw Local

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  Speaker 1: Paperwork about that moment each morning as you open the
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  curtains to a new day. Written by Lonnie Kane. This
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  article is being read by an automated voice brought to
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  you by ever Lit. In some ways, my day does
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  not start until I open the curtains. Before my first
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  sip of coffee, I head straight to the front window.
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  I inch sideways behind my couch to grip the bottom
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  of each of the three panels to slide up the
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  blinds across the room. Curtains cover sliding patio doors, and
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  I shove them aside. Curtains and blinds need to be
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  opened as soon as possible. It feels like the start
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  of something significant. I would compare it to the start
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  of a movie with the music heralding and the lion roaring,
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  or that feeling when a theater darkens, the audience grows still,
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  and the huge curtains slide away, revealing a new day.
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  Simply feels good, that moment, that pause and belief that
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  something special is about to begin. For me, this is
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  often a morning ritual. There are seldom surprises, yet there's
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  comfort in that there's nothing damaged. All is as it
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  should be. I enjoy that connection to my little piece
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  of the world from the inside out. There's a bedroom
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  at the other end of the house that's used when
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  the sun's visit. We call it Nana's room. It belonged
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  to my wife's mom when she lived with us, helping
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  us raise our suns and more. The room is often
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  dark during the day. I find myself going in to
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  open the blinds. The sun bursts in and adds the
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  kind of warmth that comes from memories. I feel like
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  I am putting Nana back in the room as best
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  I can. I had not thought much about my ritual
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  of opening up the house. I've been pouring out these
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  feelings now thanks to a simple poem I came across today.
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  This poem made me think about why I pause when
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  I suddenly have my first look at a new day outside,
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  as if I might see something different. Why I seldom
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  walk by any window without glancing outside for change or
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  the need for familiarity. Saint, in some ways, this poem
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  is a window giving me a clear view of how
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  to look at life each day. Now, let me share
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  the poem Yes by William Stafford nineteen fourteen to nineteen
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  ninety three. From the way it is new and selected
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  poems published by gray Wolf Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Yes, it
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  could happen anytime, Tornado, earthquake, armageddon, it could happen, or sunshine, love, salvation,
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  it could, you know. That's why we wake and look out.
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  No guarantees in this life, but some bonuses like morning,
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  like right now, like noon like evening. Like Stafford wrote
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  so simply and true, there are no guarantees any of
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  it will be there. We live with that every day.
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  Helped by the bonuses, Stafford only begins to list things
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  that make it all worthwhile, like the morning itself, in
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  the perpetual clock that allows moments that count, like right now,
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  and poems that remind us to pay attention to what
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  is outside and inside each of us, things we should
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  say yes to. Lonnie Kane, retired managing editor of The
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  Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for the Herald
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  News in Joliet in the nineteen seventies. His paperwork email
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  is Lonniejacaine at gmail dot com or mail the News
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  Tribune four twenty six Second Street, LaSalle, Illinois, sixty one
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  three zero one