My Ish Wish Dish

Wishes are funny things.

Sometimes small and simple, other times deep and underlying yearnings. Some wishes are easily satisfied, with a matter of time. Then there are wishes I think we all carry for life, running under the surface of us, either hidden or on our sleeve. I used to wish every day, in my head and under my breath, to just be able to finish a hot meal. Ditto for every parent of small kids, I'm sure.

I carry the lifetime wish of worldwide exploration and the current of gypsy-like tendencies skims in my blood. It's always pushed down, and always overcome by practicality and reasonable decision-making. That wish doesn't die, but it aches a bit with the passing of years, and is accompanied by a gulping swallow as I soothe it with false promises. So too the aching wish for my dad, and his return to me. That one has a different ache, a kind of twisting in the gut, coupled with regret for the times he is missing. That wish pricks tears no matter when it comes to mind.

Yesterday I wished that I could snuggle under a throw that did not smell of dog. But the mission of the kids is to leave every throw out for the dog to burrow under - they wish for the dog's comfort. I wish I could wash a throw, and then a have a chance to burrow myself in it while it is fresh.

Today I am doing and not wishing, for wishes are silly things on this day. They are not real on this day. They live in beams of sunlight, and move on the breath of newborn babe. They shine like a new copper penny under a foot's worth of fountain water.

Hold onto your wishes; throw them away occasionally.