Thursday, January 7


Comfort is a great thing. You know, I actually sometimes cry? (Orange alert, write this down, Toby is a normal mortal person.) It's true. And when I am busy crying, I generally don't want to be bothered. When I'm sad, I'm cranky. It comes with having a great attitude the rest of the time (if I may say so). Comfort is when I fall asleep in the middle of it and waking up to find that the house isn't cold.

Every once in a while I have this itch to read a great book. There are some really great books out there, but you have to actually dig to find them sometimes, which can mean hours spent looking before you find it. Comfort is finding the book and reading it with a cup of cocoa and a bowl of raisins.

Sometimes you don't have to dig to find the great books. Sometimes they come to you. That's when the real comfort starts kicking in, when you can curl up with a great book without having had to look for it for hours.

Comfort is walking around town barefoot looking for agates by the train tracks or in the park.

Southern comfort is the same principle, but it comes with strings attached. You don't get southern comfort in MN. You probably actually can't get it even in Illinois. You really have to be further south to appreciate the southern comfort.

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