Those of you who have written Favorite Moments know they are often simple and ordinary. Consequently, these moments are often difficult to encapsulate with mere subjects and predicates–or even my beloved adverbs–because while the moment is mundane, its impact on the soul can be magical. For those moments, a string of words makes a paltry net.
Hope and change. Two words on a string that have transcended their once rudimentary place in the dictionary. They now define the future of a country that, until recently, remained shadowed by the stigma of racism. They symbolize the belief of the majority of the nation, and balm the incertitude of those who retain misgivings. They unite and divide and speak volumes, but to me they are so much more.
I find my hope in two pairs of eyes, one gray and one brown. And change, well, I see that frequently in a new word, a new skill, or a new passion. My favorite moment for me happened not at the national level as one would expect, but at the dining room table in a red-brick ranch in a drowsy, if not sleepy, town southern California.