Comfort

It's rainy, miserable and downright cold for New York in August. It's a damp and dank 58 degrees as I write this and I'm thinking about how I'm going to stay warm.

I suppose it's too warm for flannel pajamas, but it's the perfect temperature for soup. It's the sure-fire way to feel warm and comforted.

I've discovered during the last year or so that there are many things out there that comfort me. Knowing that there are friends in at least 4 time zones I can call when I need to talk. Knowing I have a fully-functioning coffee maker. Knowing I have a healthy child. Knowing I have an education that no one can ever take away from me. Knowing I can prepare healthy, and well, comforting meals. Knowing I'll always have enough for the bills and there'll be a bit leftover for some little extravagence. Knowing that I own Steel Magnolias on DVD; this movie is always good for a laugh, which is a comfort.

I suppose people take their comfort in different ways. Some people I know need so much more that I do to feel comforted: expensive shoes, huge houses. There are also those who need so little; for example, my grandmother, she simply needs her children and grandchildren to gather about once a year.

I used to depend almost exclusively on food for comfort. If I had a bad day, then I'd simply start dreaming about what I would eat for dinner to chase the bad feelings away. I suppose anyone with an addiction does the same thing: a drug addict would think about his/her next fix, a compulsive shopper would think about where to shop, a alcoholic would just muddle through till they could start drinking.

Knowing there are beauties in the damndest places is enough of a comfort to get me through through this miserably rainy day.