safety

Early Monday morning, I began to smell smoke coming through the vents in our kitchen, and by now, back in our bedroom. I got up early to finish some work, but, first turned our thermostat up.  It was 4:45 a.m.  Evidences of preparation were everywhere: packages to be wrapped for mailing, paper, ribbons, tags were piled all over the dining room table; sacks of throw away papers from my husband’s study to be taken out; half emptied boxes of Christmas decorations.

When I was a kid, safety looked like the approval in my mom’s eye as she looked over my homework. It tasted like the crust-less peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches lovingly prepared by my grandma’s hands. Calm and comfort sounded like Daddy’s chatter-whistles as he called squirrels over for us to feed in the park. Safety felt like the heft and softness of my down comforter, right after my parents tucked me in, kissed my on the forehead, and turned my nightlight on.