“Three times three…”


“Four times four?”

“Sixteen.” Jeb pauses and looks at me. “You’re going to write about this on your blog aren’t you?”

“What? This?” I ask.


It’s the evening side of a Wednesday. We sit on the bed in his room. I’m drilling him on his third-grade multiplication facts while flossing my teeth.

“Yeah, mom. You write about moments like this.”

“I do?”


He’s right, in that the Archives does seek to find the precious in the simple. The profound in the mundane.

Flossing and math are, yes, quite ordinary. And for me, they bypass the neutral category, falling right into the realm of aversion.

Yet, here we sit, in what Jeb believes is a prime moment worth noting.

“Well, I guess I have to write about it now, don’t I?” I say, smiling.

So, here I type. About how sometimes magic doesn’t sparkle. That perhaps anything, no matter how dull or distasteful, can be a gateway leading deeper into presence. All it takes is the noticing.

This time Jeb was the observer, opening my mind.

Math, floss and a blog (along with some nine-year old enlightenment) – plenty of material!  I’ll take it, and keep working with what I’ve got.

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