Quaint

• Quaint
  

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  Prudent; wise; hence, crafty; artful; wily.
  

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  Characterized by ingenuity or art; finely fashioned; skillfully wrought; elegant; graceful; nice; neat.
  

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  Curious and fanciful; affected; odd; whimsical; antique; archaic; singular; unusual; as, quaint architecture; a quaint expression.

I love words. I collect them...take them out every once in awhile and roll them around on my tongue. I horde them and play with them and look at them with adoration. It is an addiction, a dirty little secret, that I write them down with wild abandon and do not even spell them right. I make them up sometimes, too.

Today, it is just this..."quaint". I found it hiding under the refrigerator and posted it for all to see. I pass it on my way to the laundry room and admire it.

As I sit on my worn, gray couch in my living room, surrounded by toys strewn about as if a piece of abstract art were in progress, listening to the dryer spin and hum, watching the mist become fog and envelop my house, I can think nothing but the word "quaint".

My life is quaint. My ideas, my style, my dreams, my concerns. Like a countryside painting or a pastoral poem, my life is blessedly simple and unoriginal.

Tonight when we begin our son's bedtime ritual...a bath (complete with toys and tons of splashing and squealing laughter), a bottle of milk, and several bedtime stories that have been read so many times that the cardboard pages are bent and we've memorized the words, there will be little or no discussion about how important it all is.

When we sit down to an old-world meal of bread, cheese, meat and wine, there will be a discussion about the day...we'll watch a movie, shut off the lights, call the dogs in to curl up on their beds, and turn in before ten.

Quaint. Perfect. Sunday.

Worry not...the lyrics of this song are not indicative of my state of mind...but the music itself is...besides, her voice is one of my favorites, calming, velvety...makes me dream of a smoky piano bar and a pink drink in a pretty glass; or a hot mug of spiced wine, a hand-made afghan, and a book I already know the ending of...mmm...Sunday afternoons are lovely and never last long enough.